


Hard Dark

by whalehuntingboyfriends



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Break Up and Make Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, literally everyone has so much angst, so much relationship drama, student politics, there's a bunch more small pairings i won't tag for spoiler reasons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 10:32:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 90,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15094865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalehuntingboyfriends/pseuds/whalehuntingboyfriends
Summary: After their friendship group is torn apart by secret betrayals, student politics and relationship drama, Jack invites everyone to a house party thrown for his birthday. Over the course of the night old wounds resurface and Michael, Gavin, Geoff and Ryan must retrace the reasons they fell apart before they can start to put themselves back together.





	1. gavin

**Author's Note:**

> **C/W: giant giant content warning for a lot of discussion of homophobia, much more than is ever present in my other stories. Backstories include religious/homophobic families and emotional abuse. Mentions of anxiety, depression + panic attacks, not explored in graphic detail but impact the characters throughout the fic.**

**i. gavin**

The clock’s just ticking past six forty five when Gavin finally sits up in bed. By now his eyes have traced innumerable paths over the water spotted ceiling, logged every stain and patch, each  Rorschach test. Lovecraftian monsters lurking in the darkness or the warped forms of men holding riot shields. Broken hearts. A patch that’s distinctly shaped like Texas if he tilts his head and squints a little. 

His phone stopped buzzing fifteen minutes ago, but when he picks it up - a lethargic sort of movement, like every limb’s weighed down with lead - there’s a barrage of text messages from Alfredo.

_Where are you?_

_You’re late._

_Yooo are you coming?_

_Jack’s asking about you._

He flicks them away with a swipe of his thumb and rolls out of bed with a groan. Caffeine headache throbbing behind his eyes. God, he wants a cigarette. He shimmies on the shorts lying in a crumpled heap at the end of the bed, grabs the nearest shirt - a particularly tropical shade of pink, some idiotic thing he wore to Pride last year that’s still covered in glitter - and lumbers into the bathroom.

The dorm room’s felt dismally empty since Dan went back to England three weeks ago. Gavin hasn’t even spread his mess into that side of the room; it’s untouched, stark, makes the sense of a missing piece much more acute. The last few months the man’s been a lot more of a crutch than Gavin would like to admit; it’s pathetic, in some sense, that he needs someone to get him out of bed in the mornings, to stop him staying out all night. But now the silence is driving him crazy and he feels a little off balance, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He splashes water on his face and stares at himself in the mirror - dripping, dark shadows under his eyes, two days’ worth of stubble on his chin. He looks hungover and the party hasn’t even started yet. 

_You don’t have to go._

His fingers clench at the edge of the sink. For a moment the urge hits him to crawl back under the covers. Turn off his phone and go to sleep and deal with everything in the morning. Will anyone really care if he’s not there anyway? The fact is, he feels sick to his stomach at the thought of leaving the room, and he’s so exhausted that he really doesn’t want to interact with _anyone_ at the moment, and everything still feels sort of _raw._

_Hide. Run. Just like you always do. Working out pretty fucking well for you, isn’t it?_

The flickering bathroom light’s making him feel dizzy. He heaves deep breaths like he’s drowning, slaps at his cheeks until it hurts and he feels like he’s woken up even a little bit. Then stares into his own eyes in the mirror and clears his throat.

“We need to talk.”  
  
It comes out shaky, strained. He coughs and tries again.

“Hey, can we talk?”  
  
“I think we should talk.”  
  
“Can we talk for a sec?”  
  
“Hey, I know you’re mad but…”  
  
“Look, I want to tell you something.”

He stops when he thinks he’s about to throw up and then brushes his teeth until his gums bleed before grabbing his sunglasses and throwing them into his messy hair. Then walks out the door before he can think too hard about it, before he can change his mind.

 

* * *

 

Jack lives in a giant-ass share-house with a bunch of other postgrads about five minutes’ walk from UAC. The fastest way to get there is to cut across campus; there’s something haunting about it, late at night. The grounds are littered with abandoned a-frames and scraps of campaign pamphlets that flutter across the concrete like tumbleweed. Ghosts on the silent battlefield of last week’s student politics warground. 

It’s fucking freezing out and by the time he arrives, Gavin’s hunched over the large coffee he picked up on the way in like it’s a lifeline. The party’s in full swing; he can hear the bass pounding from across the street and in the dark laneway the lights have a warm glow. It reminds him, abruptly, of the witch’s gingerbread cottage luring Hansel and Gretel in from the winter woods.

His stomach’s churning, but on second thought that might be because he hasn’t eaten all day. Otherwise he feels like a zombie, something vacant and disconnected to his movements as he approaches the house.

Stepping inside is like being engulfed in a sudden new world; it’s so fucking warm that he nearly gags and the music is loud enough that he seems to feel it in his bones. And the _people_ \- Jack must’ve invited most of his cohort, because there are a lot of strangers that Gavin only vaguely knows. Every room seems crowded with shuffling bodies, dancing or grinding up on each other or trying to wrestle their way through the horde while balancing cups of drinks in hand. It makes his anxiety pick up instantly, and for a second he considers turning and walking right back out the door, but a loud squeal makes him turn and a second later there’s a warm weight latching onto his back.

“Oh my God, you came! We were starting to think you’d bailed on us.”  
  
“Late night, I just couldn’t get out of bed,” Gavin replies, turning with a weak smile.

He’s relieved to see Barbara. She’s one of the few people who isn’t tangled up in the immense fuckfest of drama that’s been the last two weeks and he latches onto her like a lifeline in the chaos of the party. She’s smiling at him so kindly that it makes him kind of want to cry a bit, looking effortlessly gorgeous as always in a long floral dress and combat boots.

“You’re wearing shorts,” she notices instantly, “It’s the middle of winter, aren’t you freezing?”  
  
“Yeah, I can’t feel my legs,” he agrees, with a weak sort of laugh, “It’s hot in here though.”  
  
“It’s fucking disgusting in here. There’s too many people, it’s like a sauna. I think Jack’s trying to diffuse the situation with _strangers_. Like maybe no one from ACHIEVE will start an embarrassing scene in front of the med students.”  
  
“Is there a situation?” Gavin asks, but sees the hesitation that flickers over her face and wishes he hadn’t said anything. Of course there’s a fucking situation, he’s at the _heart_ of the situation. The situation has consumed their lives, group chats and about three different university societies for the entire month.

“It’s his birthday,” is all Barbara says, in a very carefully measured voice, and after a very awkward pause. “So just don’t start shit, alright?”  
  
“Wasn’t planning to.”  
  
“Good.” She slings an arm around his shoulders. “Jack wants to see you, and then Trevor and Fredo are upstairs - we were in the middle of getting a Mario Kart game up and running. They were worried you weren’t coming.”  
  
“Yeah, Alfredo only texted me about fifty times.” Still, he huffs out a laugh, and if he leans into Barbara’s side maybe a little more than necessary, no one around will really notice. She expertly navigates a path through the crowd and Gavin can’t help but scan the faces they pass, heart rate spiking every time he sees a tousled head or a dark hoodie and thinks it might be Geoff.

_Do you even want him to be here?  
  
_ _There’s no way in the world that he wants to talk to you right now._

And there’s a half dozen other people who probably hate his guts and who he’d really rather avoid not only tonight but for the rest of time, or at least until someone else diffuses the _Situation_ first. But there’s no way Jack _didn’t_ invite them. The question’s whether or not they showed up. And hasn’t Gavin always been the most chicken of the group?

They head out back, where Gavin instantly regrets his fashion choices because even with two heat lamps set up it’s bloody freezing outside and he feels every hair on his legs stand on end. It’s crowded out here, too; gaggles of students are hovering around the lamps, laughing and chatting together. Someone’s set up a game of beer pong and every now and then there’s a roar from the crowd gathered there.

Jack’s supervising the grill, but when Barbara taps his elbow he turns and his face lights up at the sight of Gavin. It makes it instantly worth coming, and a knot loosens in his chest.

“Gav! You came!” He engulfs Gavin in a hug so tight it takes his breath away and Gavin squeezes him back. Jack’s soft and very, very warm, and it melts some of the tension from his shoulders.

“Hey. It’s been a while.”  
  
“No it hasn’t. We just haven’t been talking,” Jack says, and Gavin looks away, but there isn’t any sort of chastisement in it. Thing is, he and Jack aren’t fighting, technically. They just haven’t been on the same side a lot lately. It’s fucking complicated and if there’s one thing that’s always stressed him out it’s not knowing where he stands with people.

But Jack’s smiling at him, now, just as warmly as ever. Something a little sad in it, like he _misses_ him, and honestly, Gavin misses him too. Misses last semester when it felt like every piece was in the right place, when they were all friends, friends changing the God damn world together and he and Michael were-

_Don’t think about him_.

A lump’s risen in his throat. He’s done a very good job lately of just, y’know, repressing everything he doesn’t want to deal with. He smiles back but it must look forced, because Jack’s warm hands fall to his shoulders and he stares at him in concern.

“You look like shit, by the way,” he says bluntly.

“You don’t like my pink shirt?”  
  
“I love your pink shirt, I don’t love the designer bags under your eyes,” Jack says, and Gavin grins weakly.

“I was up all night working on my honours. Annotated bibliography was due this morning. I took a nap but my sleep bank’s running a deficit. I’ll be fine - just need to take a really long nap this weekend. Sorry,” he adds, a bit awkwardly, “I didn’t have time to get you a present, but I’m drawing you something.” Something that involves Jack, his girlfriend, the theme of _cats_ and is definitely _anthropomorphism_ and not furry art, but he thinks Jack will like it.  
  
“Aww, Gav.” The way Jack’s face softens makes Gavin feel simultaneously tremendously guilty yet heartwarmed. “You don’t have to get me anything. But a picture would be amazing. I saw those cartoons you did - for Ryan’s campaign? They were great.”  
  
_Great_ is not the sort of word Gavin thought _any_ of their friends would use to describe Ryan’s campaign. The awkwardness must show on his face because Jack’s own grin falters for a second.

“Look,” he says, “It’s my birthday. I wasn’t going to leave anyone out. Ryan’s here-”  
  
“Oh, God-”  
  
“And so’s Geoff-”  
  
“Oh, _God_. Jack, that’s-”  
  
“A recipe for disaster?” Jack smiles grimly. “Maybe, but there’s a lot of people here. Maybe they’ll run into each other, maybe they won’t. But Gav… Geoff misses you. Even if he’s hiding it, I… I’d like if you guys could talk. That would be the best birthday gift you could give me. Please?”  
  
Gavin’s heart is thundering in his chest. He can feel the weight of Barbara’s presence next to him - awkwardly silent, trying not to get involved, but listening to every word. Sometimes he wonders what she thinks of all this. Wonders if maybe she secretly hates him too.

But he swallows, hard, and nods.

“Yeah, I… I was thinking that if I run into him I’d like to patch things up a bit,” he whispers, and Jack smiles warmly and squeezes his shoulder.

“Thanks, Gav,” he says quietly. “Enjoy the party, alright? You look like you could do with a break."

He turns away and for a second Gavin can only stand there staring at his back, frozen and unsure of himself. There’s a gulf between them that he’s suddenly horribly, intensely aware of - he feels dizzy, lost like a dead leaf on the wind, and rent with longing to throw himself back in Jack’s arms, to beg the other man to tell him that all of this will be okay. If he could rewind time - he’d want to undo everything that led to the last few weeks. But things were so complicated, so tangled around old prejudices and rifts, that he doesn’t think they would ever have played out any other way.

“C’mon,” Barbara murmurs, and tugs at his wrist. “Let’s go find the others. Trevor just texted me, they’re wondering where we are.”  
  
He follows, numbly, letting her lead him back into the warmth of the house, past shifting, swaying bodies and music that washes over him in pulsing waves. He’s suddenly quite certain that everyone must be staring at him, no matter how ludicrous that is - half these people have no clue who he is - but he stops at the foot of the stairs until she turns to look at him.

“Barb,” he whispers, and she turns and looks at him in concern.

“What?”

He opens his mouth, but he isn’t sure what he wants to say, what he wants to ask, what reassurance he thinks she can give him. How can he explain the weight of everything that’s happened? Barbara knows, he’s sure that Jeremy told Alfredo who told Trevor who told her. But she wasn’t _there_.

It’s just been a whirlwind, everything since September. The break up and the drama that followed. Then he got sick - then the election and everything that came after - and just when all that blew up in their faces, his fucking honours project punched the last of the wind out of him. Now he feels ill and empty, like he’s been scraped clean, every last dreg gone. He thinks again about turning and walking out of here. When he swallows his mouth is dry as sand.

“What I did… This whole mess...” he begins, and Barbara’s hand’s suddenly on his cheek - an oddly motherly gesture.

“Jack doesn’t blame you, you know,” she says, and Gavin squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.

“And you?”

“Of course I don’t,” she whispers. “Look, there’s a reason I never joined ACHIEVE - and never fucking will. You’re my friend, Gavin. _All_ of you are my friends. That’s the only thing that matters. I don’t give a fuck about-”  
  
“Social justice?” he cuts in, a broken attempt at a joke. It makes her snort and he feels himself grin, even if it’s more an automatic impulse than anything.

“No, about uni collectives and student politics and all that shit. Now come on.” She grabs his arm again, tugs him up the stairs. “You need to get _so_ fucking drunk, my friend.”  
  
Gavin laughs and lets her pull him along. Maybe, he thinks, he actually can relax, if only for tonight. Maybe he’ll stay with these guys, so blissfully un-embroiled in the great collapse, and maybe he’ll remember a time when it didn’t feel like everything was closing in around him.

Then they reach the top of the stairs, and he turns and looks down over the banister, and his heart nearly stops in his chest.

_No…_

_It isn’t…_

_What the fuck is he doing here?  
_

For a moment he thinks he’s seeing a ghost. It hasn’t even been that long, but they’ve had no contact since that final, desperate night, since he slammed the door in Michael’s face and told him to never fucking speak to him again. 

But now here he is - swanning in the bloody door, peering around like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s clearly just got here - all rugged up in a heavy coat, a beanie, a scarf. Not the one Gavin got him for his birthday, the one made of real wool that he bought online from his hometown. He wonders what Michael did with it. How often the other man still thinks of him.

His heart catches in his chest.

He didn’t think it would _hurt_ this much to see him again. He’d slapped a bandaid over the wound and decided that if he didn’t look at it he wouldn’t have to see how much he was bleeding. But now, it all comes flooding back to him, a surge of emotion that makes his knees buckle and his hands grip the railing until his knuckles turn white.

God, he _loved_ Michael. He loved him so fucking much, and for a pathetic moment he wants nothing more than to go to him, to bury his head in the other man’s chest and tell him _it’s all so fucked up now, Michael, we’ve all fucked everything up_ , to feel his strong arms fold around him and know that somehow Michael would make everything okay the way he always did. He can’t help but wonder how differently things might’ve gone if Michael hadn’t left ACHIEVE - if his steady, straightforward presence might have cut through all the bullshit and stopped the drama in its tracks.

But at the same time - he can’t help but remember all the pain and tears, the punch-in-the-stomach betrayal, the aching loneliness, how fucking _hollow_ he felt all the time. Ugly thoughts at three in the morning. _For the first time in my life you made me feel like I was worth something. Then tore it all apart again._

“Gavin?”

Barbara’s hand is on his back and he hears her suck in a little breath as she follows his gaze. Thing is, Michael looks good - totally relaxed, his face stretching into that roguish, handsome grin that still makes Gavin’s heart skip a beat as he reaches out to hug Chris, as he nods in greeting at someone across the room. Gavin’s nails cut crescents into his palms.

“What’s he doing here?” he asks through clenched teeth.

“He’s Jack’s friend,” Barbara points out, “He still hangs out with a lot of the group. Of course he’s here.”  
  
Something cracks, deep in Gavin’s chest, like a wishbone snapping.

“This is fucked,” he spits, and wrenches himself away from Barbara’s side. He thunders down the stairs; she shouts his name but it’s lost instantly in the music. By the time he reaches the bottom of the stairs Michael’s vanished somewhere in the crowds. That’s fine; Gavin doesn’t want to see him. He needs air.

He pushes his way through the crowded den of the living room, passes through the harsh fluorescence of the kitchen. Dodges two girls necking against the wall who’re blocking half the corridor, over a pile of bags dumped on the floor, and bursts out the back door.

It’s freezing out here. Good. He slumps against the wall down the side of the house and gasps like he’s drowning. Hell, it feels like he is, like his lungs aren’t bringing in enough air. It feels like everything’s being wound tighter and tighter, like there are rough hands pressing on his temples, on his ribs, trying to crush his entire body in on itself.

_Shouldn’t have come tonight, shouldn’t have fucking come tonight. You knew it was a bad idea._

They took sides. They all took sides. Now he feels like he’s stuck behind enemy lines, like he’s undercover and his disguise is unravelling, like everyone’s tripping over the loose threads and pulling everything apart. He’s so cold he can barely think. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, and then slams his fists back against the wall behind him. Throws his head back, too, until it cracks against the brick.

“ _Fuck_!” he screams, as loud as he can. It’s ragged and broken and swallowed instantly by the pounding bass, and he hits the wall again until he feels his knuckles start to bleed.

 

* * *

 

Let’s go back in time for a minute, back to how things used to be.

America is the best thing that ever happened to Gavin. It’s like the sun coming out from between the clouds - quite literally, given the disparity in weather between Texas and England.

But no, it’s more than that.

It’s the first place where he can lift his head up instead of staring at the ground all the time. It’s the first place his heart doesn’t beat rabbit-fear fast when a boy smiles at him from the other side of a train carriage. It’s the first place where he doesn’t feel like he has to look over his shoulder all the time, fearful that some familiar eyes are waiting to recognise him, ready to whisper about him. He ignores his family’s phone calls and skype messages. He cuts his hair. He never speaks a word of Italian again, and he’s on top of the fucking world.

ACHIEVE is also the best thing that’s ever happened to him - at least at first. His first-year roommate, Chris, ropes him into it - drags him along to one meeting and he’s hooked from the start.

It’s Geoff that does it. Their fearless leader. Geoff with his sleepy eyes, with arms like the Sistine Chapel, a network of patterns that tell a story Gavin’s instantly drawn into. Geoff who always looks like he hasn’t slept in three weeks, who speaks in a funny sort of drawl yet has a hypnotic quality to him. Who generates an ethos unlike anything Gavin’s ever known; who picks his words simply yet with such _weight_ , whose voice seems to slide down every consonant until it’s ringing with power.

He speaks like he knows the future. He speaks like he’s crafting it with every word. He speaks about justice and love and _pride_ and he talks about how they can make it happen. He talks about the Earth like it’s an old friend and makes every rally, every protest sound like it’s their God-given call. When he looks into Gavin’s eyes - into anyone’s eyes - it feels like he sees them not as a group of gangly, caffeine-addicted, stressed-out university students, but as something else. Something more. Superheroes, maybe - perhaps that’s too romantic - warriors? Either way they have the ability to change the world.

Gavin’s never had a hero before.

He’s never even had a role model, really. He grew up in a museum of plaster statues and an art gallery of saints who stared at him with painted eyes that promised damnation. A father with heavy hands, a _nonno_ who always seemed on the verge of crippling disappointment.

Geoff is like a messiah.

To Gavin he is Hyperion, brimming with promise and light. The two of them become close friends almost instantly. Everyone loves Geoff, of course - ACHIEVE is basically his entire friendship group - but he’s in three of Gavin’s classes, and they click so quickly that Gavin’s soon spending almost every waking moment with him, or at least with a message from him waiting to be replied to, or a job to complete later on, or the fond memory of the other man’s hand on his shoulders, in his hair, running down his back.

“I want you to draw me a tattoo,” he says one day, peering over Gavin’s shoulder as he’s sketching drafts for an assignment. He usually hates people watching him draw, but Geoff’s different. Everything’s just - _easy_ around him.

Gavin freezes.

“Wait, what?”  
  
“I want you to draw me a tattoo,” Geoff repeats, and flops back on the grass. They’re sitting in the main quad watching a cluster of nearby students take graduation photos. It’s a sunny day and Gavin feels warm all over. He feels Geoff’s ankle nudge against his, feels his cheeks heat.

“Of what?” Gavin asks, and gnaws at the end of his pencil. “I couldn’t, Geoff - I’m not good enough!”  
  
“Fuck off, you’re amazing. Those cartoons you’ve been doing for our pamphlets are insane. Since Lindsay went on exchange we’ve been sorely missing an artist.”  
  
“Jeremy’s better,” Gavin says, and Geoff shakes his head.

“You’ve got different art styles. I like yours. I really want you to draw me something, I’m serious.”  
  
“But it’s - it’s _permanent_ ,” Gavin splutters, “It’s gonna be on you forever and all, it’s too much pressure!”  
  
“We’ll workshop it,” Geoff says confidently. “I’ve gotta think about what it’ll be, though. Maybe something to do with the reef campaign. Since that’s the first one you came in and worked on with us.”  
  
“Wait, the tattoo’s about me?” Gavin asks - a shy, buzzing sort of warm feeling building up in his chest - Geoff drops a heavy arm over his shoulders, nearly making him draw a massive line right through his work.

“Of course! I want something to remember this semester by. The semester I met Gavin Free. The little brother I never had.”  
  
Gavin’s cheeks flush. The words send a weird thrill on him. He has a crush on Geoff - maybe - not in a weird way, not like he’d actually want a relationship with him, but an intense, head-spinning sort of affection that he’s pretty sure comes from his first time making an actual loud, proud, older queer friend who he doesn’t have to hide himself around.

Yes, ACHIEVE is good for him. Really fucking good, and before long it’s the centre of Gavin’s social life - just as it is for all the rest of the group - he spends his free time drawing for their Facebook page, picketing to protest the light rail the city wants to build through one of the national parks, marching for queer rights, for women’s rights, for asylum seekers, pamphleting, petitioning, accompanying Geoff to meeting after meeting after meeting.

Achievement City is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. In the middle of endless valleys and rolling hills, countless protected environmental sites, a gully that’s home to an endangered species of plant - the university’s conservation efforts are their pride and joy, which means the student collective that promotes both environmental action and social justice is a big fucking deal. They get a lot of funding. And somehow Gavin’s at the top of it all, the one up there with the big boys - tight with their president, Geoff, their treasurer, Jack, and of course their vice president, Ryan. All three boys have been friends since they were undergrads and now that Geoff’s on his second degree and the other two are in postgrad, they’ve essentially been running the collective for years.

But to Gavin, they’re just his friends - his boys - and he doesn’t think he’d trade any of this for the world.  
  
Enter Michael Jones.

It’s fucking embarrassing when Gavin looks back on it. He’s been at UAC for a couple months now and he’s at the height of his enthusiasm with the campaign stuff. Right now he’s manning their fundraising stall trying to get people to donate to a research program some of the scientists at the uni are running to find a way to save the bees. They’ve got a lot of plastic flowers to hand out - not that cheap shit, either, like actual real looking ones.

Meg was here a minute ago, but she’s gone off on a coffee run, and when Michael strolls past Gavin targets him. Their stall is strategically positioned on the big avenue near the law buildings, and anyone walking to campus from the train station has to pass them.

Michael looks young, and he’s one of the few people not wearing headphones, and he’s got a Zelda back pack on so Gavin thinks maybe he’s enough of a kindred spirit that he won’t instantly tell him to fuck off.

“Hey!” he calls out, “Wanna donate to save the bees?”  
  
It’s not exactly catchy. He’s still not as good as Ryan or Jeremy or any of the others when it comes to getting people all enthusiastic about the cause, but Michael still looks up at him. They make eye contact, and for a second Gavin’s heart skips a beat. It’s stupid, just - the other boy has very intense dark eyes, and he’s so good looking it’s startling, he’s handsome _and_ nerdy and clearly his type-

For a moment, as they stare at each other, it feels like everything’s moving in slow motion-

And then the moment shatters, and Michael turns away and strolls past without so much as a second glance, clearly determined to ignore him.

Wow. Wow! Okay then! Gavin is flabbergasted, _flabbergasted_ I tell you!

It’s rude. It’s just - super fucking rude, and Gavin is like, pissed off and a bit embarrassed and that’s why he calls after him.

“Well okay then, asshole! Guess you don’t care about the planet we’re all living on! That’s fine! Not like it’s the foundation of humanity’s survival or anything!”

It’s childish and not even that witty, but Michael stops in his tracks. He turns, and walks back over slowly, and his brows are all furrowed and for a second Gavin’s like _oh shit_ , because he legit looks angry and he thinks he might be about to get the stuffing knocked out of him, or at least yelled at a lot.

Michael stalks forward and as he gets closer Gavin notices the freckles spattered across his face - _cute_ \- the tiny Deadpool pop keyring swinging from his back, the Pokemon lanyard he’s using to hold his train card. He slams his hands down on the table, aggressively enough that a pot of fake flowers falls over. Gavin squeaks in alarm.

“I’m sorry,” Michael growls, voice low and way too fucking attractive considering all Gavin’s natural instincts are constantly screaming at him to avoid conflict, “Say that again?”  
  
“Uhhh, nothing,” Gavin whimpers.

“No, go on, say it again,” Michael insists.

“It’s like two dollars… the bees are dying… if you care about the planet it’s not really that big a deal to stop for a second and try and save them?” Gavin says weakly. God, he wishes Geoff was here. Or anyone else who’s less of a pushover than he is.

“Or maybe I’m late for a really important test,” Michael grunts, one eyebrow rising challengingly, “And don’t have time for someone begging me for money out of nowhere.”  
  
“I’m so sorry, good luck with your test-”  
  
“Or I’m waiting for us to invent robot bees to do the job,” Michael steamrolls on, “Like in that one episode of Black Mirror.”  
  
Gavin stares at him. He notices the twinkle in his eye, the twitch at the corner of his lip, and relief floods over him as he realises he’s being messed with. His shoulders slump and he dissolves into a fit of nervous giggles.

“Okay, but hopefully it won’t end like in Black Mirror because I would not be about that,” he replies.

“Really? You don’t want to purge all the assholes who gang up on people online?”  
  
“Not really?” Now that his anxiety over being yelled at has passed, Gavin feels himself grow flustered for a different reason - the very attractive guy leaning forward across the booth with a smirk on his face that’s far too charming. “I don’t believe in that sort of… vigilante justice.”  
  
“Well that’s fucking boring,” the guy replies, but his smile takes the bite off it. He nods at the collection box. “How much you got so far?”  
  
“Like sixty dollars,” Gavin admits, “It’s a bit miserable.”  
  
“Well, you are on a college campus. I doubt a lot of people have money to spare.”  
  
“That’s why we’re near the law building,” Gavin snorts, “They’re all rich.”  
  
“Stereotyping? Not very socially just of you,” Michael teases, “How do you know there aren’t people on scholarships or taking out loans studying law too, huh?”

Gavin flounders for a moment, lost for words - but a second later the man laughs and holds out a hand.

“Don’t have an aneurysm. I’m Michael, by the way.”  
  
“Gavin,” he replies, and shakes his hand. His grip is warm and very firm and kind of stops Gavin’s heart for a few seconds. God, he’s fucked. And apparently pathetically desperate.

“You’re not from here,” Michael notes. “Exchange student?”  
  
“International student. I live here now.”  
  
“British,” Michael nods. “Cute accent.”  
  
Gavin’s cheeks heat. A second later Michael digs around in his pocket and drops a fiver in the box.

“There you go,” he says, “Now you can stop pestering me.”  
  
“Thanks,” Gavin says, “The bees appreciate it. I’m meant to give you a flower now, which one do you want?”  
  
Michael seems to notice the display for the first time. He looks over the flowers and Gavin takes the opportunity to have a good stare. Notes his curly hair, ruffled like he was wearing a beanie, and the Mario patch on his jacket. He thinks of five inane conversation starters about video games and can’t pluck up the courage to say any of them.

“You pick one,” Michael says finally. Gavin jumps a little at his voice. “Your fave.”

Gavin realises he doesn’t have a favourite flower, regrets never picking one in his entire twenty years of life to date, and finally fumbles and pulls one at random - a bright red rose. Michael’s eyebrows shoot skyward.

“Very romantic,” he drawls.  
  
“Shut up.” His face must be bright red; it feels like it’s on fire. Michael takes the flowers and sticks it through the zip of his jacket. It looks ridiculous and Gavin can’t help laughing. 

“So part of ACHIEVE, huh?” Michael asks, nodding at the little placard on the table.

“Yeah, they do good work here!” Gavin says, with the enthusiasm of the newly recruited. “You should check out the meetings, everyone there’s really nice!”  
  
“Lot of protests, waving signs and banners around, harassing passersby in the name of a better future?”

“We’re making a difference,” Gavin says, just a bit testily. _Please don’t let him actually be an asshole, come on..._

“You’re definitely making a lot of noise,” Michael replies, “And annoying a lot of passing students.”  
  
His tone is teasing, but Gavin’s hackles rise anyway. Maybe because he’s so new, maybe because ACHIEVE has been a haven since he got here - has been everything he wished he could have back home. A support network. A space he can be _himself_. A family.

“Hey,” he says, instantly defensive - maybe this guy actually _is_ just an asshole, given how hard he is to read - “All our causes are important things. The environment, matters of rights and equality-”  
  
“Hoping all the rich, white law students in the building next door are gonna look at your plastic flowers and see the light?”  
  
“Come to one meeting,” Gavin challenges, “Just one, and you’ll see.” He knows Geoff will convince him - he _always_ can, has a way of making the biggest cynic understand his vision.

“Hmmmm.” Michael strokes his chin, exaggeratedly. “Let me think about it.”  
  
“I’m serious. Tuesdays at three in the Garner Building.”  
  
“I don’t know, I’ve gotta check my schedule. I’ve got a lot of shit to do, you know.”  
  
“This is important. Make something matter in your life,” he urges - Michael’s staring at him and he thinks maybe, maybe he is getting through-

And then Meg sweeps past him to throw herself into her chair, grumbling about the cafe queues. She sets two iced coffees down and looks up only to grin.

“Oh hey, Michael!”  
  
“Sup Meg,” Michael replies. He does one of those chin-jerks that cool guys can pull off but that always makes Gavin look like he’s got some sort of bug buzzing around his face he’s trying to get rid of.

“Wait,” he says, looking between them, “You know each other?”  
  
“How was your internship?” Meg asks, ignoring him.

“Great, but I’m glad to be back at uni,” Michael says, “Although I’ll miss getting paid just to complete my course.”  
  
Gavin is utterly confounded at this point and is reduced to spluttering like a fool.

“How do you guys-”  
  
“He’s in ACHIEVE,” Meg says, turning to him, “Has been since he started last year. Michael, this is Gav, our newest recruit.”  
  
Gavin stares helplessly at the two of them, very confused about what exactly is true at this point. After a moment Michael reaches out and tickles his nose with the end of the plastic rose; Gavin flinches back, sputtering.

“I was just messing with you,” Michael reveals, chuckling. “I’m good friends with Geoff and all the others.”  
  
“You _dick_ ,” Gavin says, and Michael grins so roguishly that it makes his heart skip a beat. He can’t help the way he starts laughing, and Michael’s face brightens. He jerks a thumb down the avenue.

“I actually do have class, though. See you around, Gav,” he adds, and the eye contact they make is too intense, makes Gavin’s breath catch in his throat. “Nice meeting ya. You seem passionate about the cause.”  
  
“He’s great. Geoff’s new right hand guy,” Meg says, slinging an arm around Gavin and ruffling his hair.

“Oh, don’t tell Jack that,” Michael calls over his shoulder, before marching on to class. Gavin stares after him. If this was a cartoon he’s quite certain there’d be little pink love hearts swirling around his head.

“He seems… interesting,” he manages, and Meg chuckles.

“He’s great,” she replies, and launches into some story about Michael getting into a tiff with some cops at a protest, about all the times he's been the one who's most enthusiastically had Geoff's back, about how he shouted down the conservative society at a big fight they had a while back when they tried getting some homophobic guest-speaker at a university event. Gavin listens, rapt, to the picture being painted behind his eyes.

Michael - passionate, blazing, just a little bit terrifying, but also sounding like so much fucking fun that honestly Gavin can't wait to get to know him more.

 

* * *

 

Thing is, Gavin's unfortunately both shy as hell and debilitatingly socially awkward - and even more so if he actually likes someone. He sees Michael three more times in the next couple of weeks, at ACHIEVE meetings, in which he himself is reduced to silence and also leaves as soon as the meeting is dismissed with murmured excuses about important classes to get to.

Michael's amazing. He really is - he's passionate and driven and not willing to let anyone push him around. He tackles every issue head on like it's a battlefield and Gavin can't imagine anyone managing to say no to him. Once he might have found Michael frightening - his complete lack of volume control, the fact that a curse word drops from his tongue every few seconds like it's automatic - and hell, he does, a little bit. But he finds himself drawn to it, too, unable to tear his eyes away from the other man. Even Geoff can't hold his attention.

But Gavin can't bring himself to speak to him.

This is his problem. He always fucking does it. He builds someone up way too much in his head and then loses his nerve. And thus he is doomed to pine from afar - at least until Meg's birthday.

Later Gavin will think back to this as the night he really fell in love - the night he really saw into Michael Jones' soul and felt like the other man looked into his, too. They go clubbing - Gavin's least favourite activity but he has every intention of getting hammered after a week with three assignments due - and he's standing there under the psychedelic lights with the music pounding frantically through his entire body, vaguely bobbing to the beat and feeling a bit out of it, when Michael taps him on the shoulder.

"Hey," he says, leaning in close so Gavin can hear him. His breath tickles Gavin's ear and a shiver runs down his spine.

The drinks he's had have loosened him up, but his shoulders still tense as he turns and sees Michael grinning at him - his eyes warm and somehow steadying amidst all the flashing blue and pink lights, looking way too fucking attractive in a denim vest that shows off his strong arms and all his tattoos. Gavin's eyes trail over the colourful pictures and he swallows, mouth very dry, way too self-conscious suddenly.

"Hi! Didn't know you were here."

"Everyone's here," Michael points out. He takes Gavin's arm, steering him away from the edge of the dance floor towards a booth. Gavin follows like a baby lamb taking its first steps. "Can we talk?"

"Of course." His mind's racing. He wants too much from this.

"Good." Michael pushes him into the booth, throws himself easily into the seat opposite. He doesn't seem drunk; good, Gavin's seen video footage of him when he gets too bevved and he's rowdy and noisy and it’s _fun_ , but not the Michael Gavin wants to be getting to know. "Was starting to think you were avoiding me. You run out of every meeting like your ass is on fire, especially when I try to get your attention."

Oh, God. He noticed. Gavin ducks his head and hopes his cheeks aren't as red as they feel. 

"I'm not avoiding you," he says - his voice is too muffled and Michael reaches out and gently pulls his arms away from his face. His touch makes electric sparks dance across Gavin's skin. "Sorry - I wasn't avoiding you. I just - I get shy around new people. Around strangers."

"We're hardly strangers." Michael's hand hasn't left his wrist; an easy, warm grip. "Geoff's told me so many stories about the new kid I feel like I know you."

"I've heard a lot about you, too," Gavin admits.

"Yeah, well, stories aren't everything. So who's the real Gavin Free?" Michael prompts, and leans forward, eyes sparkling. "I'm always interested in how people get dragged into ACHIEVE. Especially an international student who seemed to materialise in AC out of nowhere. So please - indulge my curiosity."

Gavin's heart flickers with hope. He speaks - shyly at first, but gains confidence at Michael's intent gaze and little nods. He speaks about graduating, about his degree, about the shit he went through trying to get a Visa, about how he got dragged into the collective. Michael talks about moving from Jersey, about running into Geoff and the others at a rally and having to run from the cops together, about a friendship forged through blood and tear gas.

They dance, later. Gavin doesn't think he's ever laughed so much, or managed to forget about how self conscious he feels. At some point they're hanging out with the others, it's all a bit of a blur, but later they're alone, Michael's grip tight around his wrist as he pulls him through the crowds and outside into the sharp, cold night air.

They go on a McDonald's run, and then somehow end up back at uni, sitting on the park benches outside the library, looking over the community garden and passing a cigarette back and forth.

They've talked about a lot of things. If they believe in aliens, what they think happens after death, an argument about Marx that would've been a lot more sophisticated if they'd been sober. Gavin's shoulders are loose and easy now; he doesn't think he's talked to someone like this since Dan, since Geoff. Even when they're disagreeing Michael's never mean, not like he could be. Gavin doesn't feel stupid around him.

He's comfortable enough that when Michael inevitably asks about his family, he tells him.

"I'm not out to them. I... I can't be." His nails dig into the crescent moon scars that've marked his palms since he was old enough to start questioning. "And growing up was hell. My town is tiny and the Italian community there is super close - and super traditional. Everyone's, like, hardcore Catholic. Like when we go to Church, the mass is said in Latin."

"Shit, dude. Isn't Latin close to Italian anyway?"

"Yeah, but it's like - a different rite. A really conservative one. And everyone knew everyone else's families. There was a lot of gossip. A lot of pressure not to shame your family, not to let everyone down. My mum was in tears once just because one of my cousins got a tattoo - a tattoo, for Christ's sake! It wasn't even a big one!"

Michael looks pointedly down at his arms and Gavin barks out a laugh.

"Yeah, they'd have a riot if they saw you. Anyway, I - I had a giant crisis when I realised I was bi, but of course I couldn't tell anyone. I was terrified. I used to go out at night - to clubs and things, or places I knew there were other queer guys, but I was always so scared that someone I knew would see me, and tell someone else, and word would spread through the whole community."

"Not worth the risk," Michael murmured, and Gavin shook his head.

"Probably not, but I wanted to be free, as much as I could. I just - I love my parents, of course I do. But as I got older we started fighting more and more. It's just... it's hard when you want to respect someone, when you want them to be someone you're proud to call your mother and father, but you just can't stop being aware of how _wrong_ they are. And I'm just - terrified of what it'll mean when I do eventually come out. How I'm gonna be responsible for... for tearing the family apart, for disappointing them so much, for changing everything. Nothing will ever be the same again. And they have no idea it's coming."

"Hey." Michael's arm drops around his shoulders, warm and heavy. Gavin's voice has started shaking; he's gotten all the tears out before, in front of counsellors, in front of Dan, but the topic still makes his voice thick and his throat close up. "That's not on you. That's on them."

"I know, just... the Catholic guilt never really goes away. And my family, you - you have to lie about stuff like that. Because when things are good, we're all really close, but when things are bad... the fights get really vicious, really personal. It feels like the world is ending." He swallows, hard, makes sure he's breathing. "I used to get bad anxiety about it all. I knew I had to get away. So that's why it... it means so much for me to be here. To be out and free - that's why I campaign. I want to help make a world where no one else has to feel like that."

Michael nods, humming. His hand massages Gavin's shoulder, and he leans into the touch. He thinks back to when he was fifteen and scared and used to cry himself to sleep at night, out of sheer fucking loneliness, and how he used to dream back then of moments like this - of a strong, warm body next to him, holding him, comforting him, reminding him he wasn't alone. Didn't have to be. Wasn't the only one carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"So did you ever date a guy? Back home, or here," he asks, and Gavin shakes his head.

"No, not... not properly. I hooked up with a few people back home, but never anything serious. If things started to go that way I just... I'd get this intense dread that I just couldn't shake off, I'd feel sick with it. I think the thought of actually coming out, of actually making everything real, was too much for me back home. So I'd sabotage things, pick them apart before they could go anywhere. Since I came to America, it mostly seems to be girls who've been interested in me, but I haven't dated any seriously."

"I see."

Gavin glances at him, shyly, as Michael offers him the cigarette.

"How about you?" he whispers.

Michael huffs out a smoky breath and leaned back on the bench, staring out over the gardens. Gavin stares at the side of his face, drinking in the pale curve of his cheek in the bluish lamplight, gaze lingering on his soft lips before looking away quickly when he starts to speak. 

“I’m lucky. I got out alright. I came out when I was… fifteen, maybe? Mom took it well, Dad didn’t talk to me for two weeks. But after that, we… we rebuilt things, slowly. Since then I’ve had a couple of boyfriends.”  
  
Gavin’s good at reading people, and he doesn’t miss the way Michael’s eyes flicker sideways slightly at that last statement. 

“At uni?” he asks, and Michael nods.

“One was.” His lips twist a little and, on impulse, Gavin reaches out and puts a hand on his wrist. Michael looks up and must see the concerned look on his face. He gives a small, sad smile. “It was… a really complicated relationship. We both had a lot of shit going on, things we just - couldn’t make work. But we were close.” He looks down, fingers twisting together. “We were mates for a long time before we dated.”  
  
“And now?” Gavin asks. He tries not to think about why his stomach twists.

“Now we just don’t talk anymore.”

His shoulders hunch, and Gavin bites his lip.

He can’t identify, not really. He’s never let himself get close enough to anyone to have a painful break up. But he’s seen Dan pine over enough girls to know what it looks like when someone’s hung up on an ex. And the thought strikes him, _don’t get involved, this is a bad idea, he’s clearly not over whoever this is._ Except he wants it, so badly, and his treacherous heart compels him to touch Michael’s shoulder, to rub his arm reassuringly. And think, _you don’t know him, you don’t know his heart. Maybe he’s fine. He knows better than you do._

“Anyway,” Michael says then, and looks up at him, “I think I’m ready to date again. Gotta put the past behind me, right?”

“Of course,” Gavin agrees, maybe a bit too quickly.

“And you?” Michael prompts, and when he squeezes Gavin’s wrist it feels like fireworks are going off in the back of his head.

“I- I run away,” he admits, shakily. “That’s what I do. When I have a problem, I don’t try to fix it. I never believe that I can. That’s why I’ve avoided confrontation with my parents. That’s why I ran every time I got close to a guy. But with Geoff… you guys… you don’t run. You stand and fight. I admire that.”  
  
“Sometime’s running’s the only way to survive,” Michael says gently, and Gavin nods.

“Yeah. But I think I’m getting a bit sick of it.”

“That’s good,” Michael says, and ruffles his hair until Gavin giggles and squirms, “That’s some character development shit right there.”  
  
“Shut up,” Gavin laughs, and they fall into a comfortable silence, leaning against one another’s sides. Michael grinds the cigarette out on the arm of the bench next to him.

“You know half of ACHIEVE have dated one another,” Michael says abruptly - Gavin’s head snaps up, interested - “One big incestuous family.”

“Oh my God, don’t joke about that.”  
  
“I’m not! It’s true!”  
  
“Really?” This is gossip he hasn’t heard before. He knows there was drama in the group before he arrived, little things - arguments over funding, someone cheating on someone else, a _lot_ of Facebook shit that he’s glad he’s missed out on. But since he joined, it’s been relatively smooth sailing. “Who’d Geoff date?”  
  
“Jack for a bit,” Michael says, and snickers at the way Gavin’s eyes widen. “And Burnie before he graduated and moved across the country. And you may have noticed some weird-ass tension with Ryan.”  
  
“Ryan is _terrifying_ ,” Gavin replies, shivering - he still hasn’t ever spoken to him one on one and avoids being alone with him out of sheer fucking awkwardness.

“Ah, you get used to him,” Michael says, and flaps a hand. “He’s the Magneto to Geoff’s Charles.”  
  
“Oh my fucking God, he _so_ is,” Gavin cries, delighted, “How did I never realise that?”  
  
“They’ve never actually hooked up, but there’s a betting pool on when it’ll happen.”  
  
Gavin dissolves into laughter. So does Michael. They sit, and laugh, and it feels very warm and happy, and dear _God_ at this point how much he does not know how things will escalate. How in a few months this conversation will cease to be funny at all, will dissolve into nothing but bitter irony.

“All of you,” Gavin says, when his giggles subside, “You’re just…”

“Just what?” Michael asks, and when Gavin turns his face is closer and he’s offering a fresh cigarette. He swallows, mouth dry, and takes it, trying not to look at Michael’s chapped lips.

“Just - amazing. Strong. I feel kinda like I’m just fumbling along after the rest of you. Geoff always seems to know exactly what to do. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ryan not manage to take control of a situation. And you - the footage Jack showed me of that protest… I don’t think I could’ve stood up to the cops like that.”  
  
“You came all the way across the world,” Michael points out. “You survived that shithole of a community you came from. And I’ve seen your art. I dunno, Gav, I think you’re pretty fucking cool."

Gavin looks away, cheeks heating, heart pounding. Michael leans forward, plucking the cigarette from between his fingers. Gavin can’t look at him, embarrassed. Chest aching hard now. He can feel Michael’s breath against his cheek when he murmurs:

“Kinda really want to kiss you.”

Gavin’s mind is racing a million miles an hour. The anxious part of him that craves certainty wants to ask what he means, what _this_ means, what they’ll be, what Michael’s thinking. But he thinks of Geoff and his calm blue eyes, and Michael’s steady warmth, and wants to just - roll with it.

“You should,” he murmurs, and the next thing he knows Michael’s warm body is pressed to his, and his lips are moving against Gavin’s, and it feels like a hundred sparks have lit up all over his body, and all other thoughts flee from his mind-

 

* * *

 

Fast forward, now, back to reality.

“You okay?”

Gavin jolts as a hand descends on his shoulder, head snapping up. He’s gone numb from the cold, sitting slumped against the side of the house on a damp patch of ground, arms wrapped around his knees, shivering.

Ryan’s peering down at him. In the dim light his blue eyes shine like twin moons. His hand is very warm, his face soft and concerned. Gavin’s never been more relieved to see someone in his life. He leans into the touch, drinks in Ryan’s strong shape silhouetted against the night sky. A saviour.

“I saw Michael,” he croaks out. Even just saying the words makes his heart beat faster. “I… I somehow still didn’t expect him to be here. It’s stupid, I should’ve known. But I - I just _didn’t_ , somehow. It took me by surprise.”  
  
“Shit,” Ryan says, and Gavin scoffs out a laugh.

He’s glad when Ryan sits down next to him, their shoulders bumping together. He’s carrying a beer, only a little of it drunk, and presses it into Gavin’s hands. He swigs from it gratefully. A moment later Ryan’s shrugging off his jacket and wrapping it around his shoulders.

“You’ll be cold,” Gavin protests, softly.

“I’ve got a jumper on,” Ryan points out, and raises his eyebrows. “Shorts? Really?”  
  
“Figured I’ve got enough leghair to keep me warm,” he replies mournfully, and likes Ryan’s little chuckle. His laughs are hard-won but always worth it and it makes Gavin smile. After a second Ryan bumps their arms together.

“Talk to me,” he says quietly, and Gavin looks down, fiddling with the label of the beer bottle, peeling it away then pressing it back down again.

“It hurt because it was unexpected,” he murmurs. “He’s just - _here_ , living his life. Moving on. Smiling like nothing even happened. I thought I was over him but I guess I’m not. Maybe that’s what’s hitting me so hard.”  
  
“It takes time,” Ryan points out quietly. “Don’t rush it. It doesn’t make you weak.”  
  
“Feels weak,” Gavin mutters, and Ryan squeezes his arm tightly.

“You’re not,” he says, in the same voice he uses at speeches and rallies, a voice ringing of the truth with all the force of his conviction behind it. And if there’s one thing Ryan Haywood is fucking overflowing with, it’s conviction. It makes Gavin smile, just a little, and Ryan chucks him on the cheek before stealing the beer back. They pass it between them for a bit, the silence companionable now, the tension slowly leeching from Gavin’s shoulders. He’s calming down now, although a big part of that is probably the adrenaline rush dying down.

“I haven’t seen you in a bit,” Ryan says after a moment. “Not since the victory party. You left really early. Talk about an Irish goodbye.”  
  
“I felt sick,” Gavin admits. “Then I had a shitload of honours work. I’ve been getting sick a lot lately. It just… feels like everything’s closing in around me.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Dunno.” He feels too near-tears suddenly, too weak. “Maybe because I’m going home for Christmas and I’m fucking dreading it. I’m not sure. Just - I always seem to feel like I’m running out of time.”  
  
“You’re not,” Ryan says firmly. He stares at Gavin until he looks up and meets his eyes. “I’m serious. We have a lot of work ahead of us. And I’m excited about it! I can’t do this without you.”  
  
His stare is too intense suddenly, makes Gavin’s mouth feel dry. He swallows hard.

“I know,” he whispers, “I have your back, Ryan. You know that.”  
  
“Good.” Ryan nudges him with an elbow until Gavin grins. Ryan grins, too, the corner of his mouth tugging up in that particular mischievous smirk that takes him from intimidating to roguishly handsome. “But take care of yourself, too, Gav. Looks like you need a rest. Dan’s gone back home, right? Why don’t you come stay with me for a bit? Play some PUBG.”  
  
“Maybe,” Gavin says, but the tension’s broken. It’s easy to forget sometimes that Ryan’s just a regular college student like the rest of them and not some sort of supervillain. Gavin rests a head on his shoulder; there’s a comfortable ease to it. He sips the beer, feels the alcohol buzz through his veins. His mind drifts.

“You ever regret it?” he asks, abruptly.

Ryan doesn’t need to ask what he’s talking about. He hesitates, and Gavin feels nervous suddenly. They haven’t really… talked about what happened. Not really. Ryan always seems so _certain_ , Gavin sometimes wonders what goes through his head. If he has the same anxieties as the rest of them.

“A little,” Ryan admits, quietly. “Not what I did, but I regret _how_ things went down. But I chose what I thought was right - and so did you. Don’t ever let anyone make you doubt that.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Gavin mumbles, and tears do spring to his eyes this time. “I… should I have been more loyal?”

“This is bigger than you or me or anyone else,” Ryan says fiercely.

“Is it?”  
  
“Of course,” Ryan replies, and his voice could move mountains. It sends the same shiver down Gavin’s spine that Geoff’s always used to. “Believe it, Gavin.”  
  
He puts a hand on Gavin’s cheek; he closes his eyes, leans into the warmth, feels Ryan’s thumb run gently over his skin. When he opens his eyes Ryan’s staring at him with a little smile, and _God_ , he can never get over how intense the other man is. How breathtaking it is to look at him up close. Sometimes, he thinks, as Ryan’s hand slips around to the back of his neck, pulls him close until their foreheads touch, he wonders what it would be like - to be with him. But it’s not like that between them, he knows, it never will be. He doesn’t think that’s what he’d want, anyway.

But still. He likes that he knows Ryan’s gentle side, now. He was the last person Gavin had expected would come through for him in those dark, lonely days last semester. But then again, things didn’t play out how any of them had expected, did they?  
  
“Come on,” Ryan says then, and pulls back. “Enjoy the party - for Jack if not for anyone else. There are so many med students here. You can get all your weird shit checked out.”  
  
“I don’t have _weird shit_ ,” Gavin grumbles. “It’s perfectly normal to throw up when the temperature changes. I know because I yahoo-answered it one time.”  
  
“I was talking about your abnormally large nose,” Ryan teases, “But if you’re getting your medical diagnoses from yahoo answers I think we have bigger problems to worry about.”  
  
Gavin laughs and shoves at him. Ryan tugs him easily to his feet and steers him out into the yard, one hand around his waist. It’s too easy, too comfortable. There are ways you touch people when you’ve seen them naked that you wouldn’t otherwise. They round the corner of the house-

And nearly bump right into Geoff, who’s slinking into the side passage, ducking to light a cigarette. He fumbles and drops it, looking up.

They freeze. Time seems to stop. Gavin clutches Ryan’s arm automatically, unable to stop staring. 

It feels like it’s been forever since he saw Geoff. He looks tired - beard grown out, hair dishevelled, dark circles like bruises under his eyes - and oddly unsure of himself. Usually there’s something deliberate in how he carries himself. Now he’s hunched over like he just woke up, and he seems to react slowly to seeing them - fumbling his cigarette, stepping back, hands rising as though in slow motion.

First it’s just pure shock. Then comes the excruciating, slow realisation of awkwardness as Geoff’s gaze darts between them. Finally comes the anger; his face clouds over, and Gavin’s stomach sinks.

_Run_. That’s all he wants to do, same as always. Turn and run back home and then hide under his bed and never fucking talk to another living being ever again. But he can’t move. Geoff’s stare is like Medusa, fixing him in place.

In the end, Geoff’s the first to speak.

“Should’ve guessed,” he says, voice hoarse, “You two would be lurking around together.”

Ryan’s grip tightens around Gavin’s waist protectively.

“Don’t be an asshole,” he hisses. “If you have a problem, it’s between you and me. Not Gavin.”  
  
“No, it _is_ between him and me,” Geoff snaps. “I don’t give a _shit_ about you, Ryan. You’ve always been an asshole. But you…” His eyes turn back to Gavin’s, meet them intensely. They’re welling with tears, and Gavin can only stare in horror. “I didn’t expect _you_ to be the one to turn on me."

Gavin swallows, his mouth so dry it nearly hurts. The thing is, he _does_ feel guilty. His heart is aching and all he wants is for this to go away, to have never happened. And he thinks back to his own eyes in the mirror, and everything he wanted to say. _We need to talk. Hey, can we talk? I know you’re mad…_

But none of it _works_ with Ryan next to him. It’s different. More tense. More like taking sides. He swallows, painfully.

“Geoff,” he begins - it’s an effort just to force his name out. “I-”  
  
“Yes? Go on!” Geoff cuts in, “Is there a way you can possibly fucking explain yourself?”  
  
Gavin flinches. And now, _now_ he doesn’t want to talk, of course. Geoff laughs, harshly.

“Didn’t fucking think so,” he spits.

The worst part is, he’s not drunk. He doesn’t drink anymore. If he was drunk then the cruelty could be hand-waved away, the same way Gavin could pretend that his father’s homophobic rants were just the product of his inebriation, that he didn’t _really_ mean it all. But no, this is all Geoff. And right now Gavin misses him so much, and _fears_ him so much, that he can only stand there. Paralysed. Swallowing.

“Geoff,” Ryan warns, “Turn around and walk away.”  
  
“Didn’t realise you were the boss of this party, Haywood,” Geoff sneers. “Or did you weasle your way into being in charge of this, too, huh? Should I be worried what you and Jack have been cooking up behind my back?”  
  
Ryan remains as cold and calm as always.

“Do not be a sore loser,” he says, and Geoff throws his head back and laughs, a bit hysterically.

“Oh, that is _fucking_ rich. You think _I’m_ a sore loser? Yeah, sure - the same way _Hamlet_ and _Othello_ were sore fucking losers when all their friends turned on them behind their backs!” He moves forward, jabs a finger at Gavin’s chest. “Well, Iago? You gonna say anything, or from this time forth shall you never more speak word?”  
  
“I never wanted it to happen like this,” Gavin chokes out.

“So, what?” Geoff demands. “The stabbing me in the back was your way of trying to _fix_ things?”

“Don’t be so _fucking_ dramatic,” Ryan snaps, stepping in front of Gavin a little. Gavin lets him, helplessly, at once horrified at how this is escalating and relieved someone else is taking control. “No one stabbed you in the back.”  
  
“Spoken like someone with a true heart of stone,” Geoff fires back. “Not surprising, considering you don’t have feelings. You’ve never had to work for anything a day in your fucking life, Ryan. So when you don’t get what you want, you go and grab it like a bully in a schoolyard!”

Gavin bites his lip until it bleeds, and oh God, he wants to tell Geoff, _you don’t know, you don’t know him, you don’t know everything that’s happened. You don’t know_ Ryan.

It’s been hard to believe the last few months that the two boys were ever close, and he sees Ryan’s spine stiffen, drawing upwards as though pulled by puppet strings. But Ryan isn’t like him - he doesn’t run, hide, flinch. He just straightens his shoulders, looking, for a moment, like some sort of noble marble statue. Like a soldier. 

“You should stop talking,” he says, quietly. A warning.

“Geoff,” Gavin adds then, and moves forward, nudging past Ryan. When he gets close, Geoff’s eyes widen and his breath hitches a little. He’s scared, too. Gavin can see it. His own voice is trembling, but he forces himself to push on. “I hate this, I just… I hate it. I hate the way everything fell apart.”

“Your hands aren’t remotely clean,” Geoff replies, shakily.

“I know, just-” And the words trip out now, unintelligible, stuttering, “After Michael, Ryan was there for me, and we - we found out we have a lot in common and-”  
  
“Oh, for God’s _fucking_ sake!” Geoff cries, and there’s genuine, raw anger in it now. Gavin’s mouth snaps shut; he’s never heard him shout like this, even in the worst of the campaigning. Geoff’s voice is high, breaking, close to tears, but there’s the force of an ocean behind every word. “Do _not_ bring your personal shit into this! That’s not _remotely_ what this is about! I don’t care _who_ you broke up with-” His eyes dart to Ryan, “Or who you _fucked_ after that. This is about ACHIEVE, and what _you two_ did to tear down every fucking thing I devoted my life to building. I _hate you_.”

The words make Gavin’s blood turn to ice; even Ryan looks shocked, and Geoff stares at them both with glassy, red eyes, fists clenching at his sides.

“I hate you both,” he repeats. “And I never want to see either of your treacherous faces ever again, and if you think I can _ever_ forgive you for that, you’re wrong. You have no _clue_ what you’ve done. What you’re about to do. How _bad_ things are about to _get_. I thought you knew what the cause meant, Gavin. I thought you understood why I do things the way I do. You were like my brother. I- I wanted to be there to help you grow every step of the way. But now…”

He trails off, voice weak and spent. Gavin’s eyes are blurred with tears, and he sees Geoff reach up to swipe at his own. But before either of them can say more. Ryan steps between them.

“He’s not your little pet activist, Ramsey,” he says firmly. “You don’t own him. He can make his own choices about what he wants.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he has been, with a snake like you whispering in his ear,” Geoff says, but his eyes are still fixed on Gavin. “I thought you were stronger than that.” 

And that’s it. Those are the words that break him. Gavin can’t do this. He gives in to his instincts and shoulders past Geoff, walking off as fast as he can go. All he’s thinking is _get out, get out, get out._

“Gavin!” someone calls after him. He can’t tell which of them it is. Either way, he ignores it - pushing through a crowd of strangers milling in the backyard, shoving his way into the house. Thinking, _run, lose them. Lose yourself._

But still-

He can’t stop thinking about all the better times, the times when he loved Geoff more than anything in the world. All the late nights spent talking about their lives - their pasts, their futures. How Geoff would paint his vision for Gavin and he would be able to see it in the stars. How they’d check in with each other - _how’d your exam go? Have you eaten today? Did you pay your student amenities fee yet?_

Moving to AC was daunting but Geoff was his home away from home, and he was always so _kind_ , and Gavin hates himself suddenly. He’s been stupid, he realises, selfish. All the things he envisioned - him pouring his heart out to Geoff, explaining why he did it, the other man nodding and smiling and _understanding_ \- they were all focused on him. He didn’t think about the hurt _he’d_ caused, how much pain he’d inflicted on Geoff.

And how not everyone is so willing to forgive.

He’s seen Geoff hold a grudge before, he knows they’re ugly and deep. And now he’s the one who’s put that wound in his heart.

_Nothing can be fixed._ He knows it with a sudden certainty. _Nothing can ever be right again._

Just like how after he comes out, just like how after this Christmas with his family, none of it will fucking matter anymore. The good times, the happy bits. Everything will change, and he’ll be lost at sea.

God. He needs a fucking drink. Head pounding, heart pounding, he goes into the house and makes a beeline for the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

_Yoooo where are you?_

_Are you still here?  
  
_ _Hey seriously, dude, are you okay?_

_hey if you’ve gone home just let us know so we know you’re safe  
  
_ Alfredo will not stop fucking texting him, and after a while Gavin turns his phone to silent and presses his fingers into his temples. They’re probably looking for him, but in the chaos of the party and with _so many_ people, they somehow haven’t tracked him down yet. He downs his second drink and turns away from the cabinet, moving dazedly into the living room and pausing to lean against the couch.

His head’s spinning.

He’s not drunk, not quite, but he hasn’t eaten anything today and he feels all lightheaded. Everything around him seems a little too bright, too colourful. The music seems to be reaching inside him and squeezing his lungs, sending tremors through his bones. There are stupid, lonely, fucked up sort of things that he wants to tell people but doesn’t know how. Like he wonders what Geoff would say if he told him, _you think this isn’t personal, you think it’s not fucking relevant? You know I passed out in class two weeks ago because without Dan here no one was telling me to eat._ Or _I had three panic attacks on the weekend at the thought of going to uni and running into Michael._ Or _my Mum texted me and I couldn’t stop crying for an hour._

He feels like he might pass out now.

He knows, objectively, that Barbara’s worried about him. Knows objectively that she’s right to be, that he’s not okay, hasn’t been in a while. But that’s just how his family does things. You grit your teeth and get on with it to avoid a fight.

He wants to go home, but that feels like admitting defeat. Instead he thinks, _fuck it,_ Barbara’s not involved, Trevor and Fredo aren’t, if he can just find them then maybe he can convince them not to ask about anything, and they can play MarioKart and get super fucking drunk and maybe things will feel normal. Just for a few hours, maybe he’ll just be a college kid at a college party and not anything else. The Catholic disappointment, the ex-boyfriend, the Brutus to Geoff’s Caesar.

He takes off Ryan’s jacket, dazedly, and slings it over the back of the nearest chair. The leather was starting to feel too heavy around his shoulders, and the smell of Ryan’s aftershave on it was distracting. Made him keep thinking of late nights and whiskey and spilling too many secrets. He appreciates it for what it is, but that’s not what he needs right now.

He heads upstairs. He’s only been here once before, and they’ve moved a lot of furniture around for the party, but he has a vague memory of where Jack’s room and the wii is. As he walks down the corridor someone calls out to him, slaps him on the shoulder; he turns his head, catches a vague glimpse of one of Ryan’s friends. He can’t remember the guy’s name, but he remembers seeing him during the campaign. He offers a weak smile in return, but the last thing he wants right now is to get dragged into a conversation. He hurries on-

Only to freeze as he passes a half-open door and catches a snatch of Michael’s voice.

God, he hasn’t heard it in a long time.

Michael’s always so _loud_ that just the sound of him talking is enough to jerk Gavin right back to all the times he’d hear Michael screaming at a video game, or down the phone to his mother, or enthusiastically ranting about one thing or another. It makes his stomach twist and his heart ache.

“ _-_ can’t possibly fuck _everything_ up. Ryan’s been doing this a long time, too.”

He’s talking student politics, and sheer morbid curiosity makes Gavin inch towards the door. Of course he’s wondered, they’ve all wondered, what Michael must think of the schism that tore apart ACHIEVE. Which side he’d have taken if he was still part of the group. And Gavin doesn’t doubt that Meg, and Lindsay, and probably even Geoff have all talked to him since the drama started, that they know what he’s thinking.

But Gavin doesn’t. And now he desperately wants to know who Michael’s talking to. He quietly moves to look inside.

It’s a bedroom, one of Jack’s housemates’. Michael’s sitting on the floor, leaning back against the bed, nursing a red cup. Jeremy’s sitting next to him, and Gavin bites his lip. Their shoulders are brushing together too comfortably, and they’re smiling at each other. This is no political argument, this is two friends shooting the shit and drinking and laughing together. He doesn’t catch what Jeremy says in reply because his blood is rushing in his ears as he sees Michael throw back his head, then laugh, then lean in and kiss him - an easy, familiar brush of lips.

Gavin freezes. His blood runs cold. He never considered how much this would _hurt_ , but it does, suddenly. It feels like someone’s reached inside and grabbed his heart and is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, sharp nails digging in, everything ready to _burst_. He can taste blood.

They pull apart. Jeremy looks up and his gaze drifts to the door. Gavin sees the moment he notices him lurking there; his eyes widen.

“Oh shit,” he hisses, and Michael turns.

Surprise flashes across his face. Then it softens, and he rises and takes a step towards Gavin. And God, God, there’s a lump swelling in his throat, because Michael’s staring at him with kind, sad, soft eyes. Pitying eyes. And he looks _good_ , he looks soft and inviting and like the same gentle Michael who Gavin used to come home to at the end of the day-

And Jeremy’s scrambling up after him, reaching out, his hand brushing Michael’s, and he’s _moved on, moved on, moved on_.

“Gavin,” Jeremy begins, and Gavin pushes the door open. Maybe it was creepy to watch them, but right now he just feels hollow and numb.

“I didn’t realise you... you two were together,” he says.

Michael stops a few paces away from him.

“Hey, Gav,” he says gently, and somehow that shocks Gavin awake, like an electric cattle prod to the heart.

“Don’t fucking _Gav_ me,” he spits, without thinking about it, and Michael’s eyebrows rise.

“Whoa, okay,” he says, and glances back at Jeremy. Gavin follows his gaze; when he meets Jeremy’s eyes, he struggles not to flinch.

They haven’t talked in weeks, but Jeremy was on Geoff’s side, and that’s how things are now. You’re either with Geoff or with Ryan, there’s no in-between. And Gavin can only wonder what Jeremy’s been telling Michael about what he did. He wouldn’t be surprised if the other man hates him for it. They were never super close, but they got on _well_ \- they had a friendly, teasing sort of relationship, and Gavin used to seek his approval when he was new. They’d do a lot of art together, and had a few of the same classes. They were mates - before everything fell apart.

To see the two of them together, to not have _known_ about it… it’s a double stab of a betrayal. He thinks, maybe, this is how Geoff felt.

But now… Jeremy just looks sympathetic, and somehow that hurts more than anything. Gavin’s fingers clench on the doorframe. Jeremy looks _good_ , he always has - he’s on the university’s boxing team and he’s always super fit, and the shaved head look he’s been rocking lately really suits him, and next to Michael…

They look good together, and now he’s too aware of how _he_ looks like shit, with his bed-hair and his clothes hanging off him and probably a bit drunker than is really dignified.

“Are you okay?” Michael asks suddenly, and Gavin blinks and glances back at him. He lashes out, like a wounded animal. He can’t help it.

“Oh, like you bloody care.”  
  
“No, Gav,” Jeremy adds, quietly, “You’re like… swaying.”

He is. He’s leaning against the door and everything’s sort of colourful around the edges, but he swallows hard.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he says, but it feels like he’s dying, and suddenly he’s mortified at the thought that he might cry in front of them. He doesn’t want to. Suddenly, he thinks _I have to be stone. I have to be stone the way I’m stone kneeling in church, the way I’m stone around my parents, the way I was stone when I was standing up there next to Ryan watching the results come in. Watching the look on Geoff’s face when he realised he lost._

“Okay,” Michael says, and gives a strained sort of laugh, and oh, God. He’s still handsome, still confident, and when he walks forward, Gavin shrinks back into himself. Michael with his strong arms, warm body, face framed by soft curls - it’s _too much._ “Hey, I know this is awkward. Like, this is so not the way I wanted to run into you again. But it’s good to see you, it really is. I hope all your uni stuff’s going well-”

Gavin clenches his eyes shut, lifts a hand to get him to stop, and Michael breaks off.

“Michael,” Gavin says, slow and pained. “ _Don’t_.”

“Don’t what?” Michael asks, but when Gavin looks up and meets his eyes, he can see it in his face. He knows. 

“Don’t pretend this is normal,” he pleads. “Don’t pretend any of this is fucking _normal_ , or hasn’t Jeremy told you what went down? Don’t you know what’s going on?”  
  
Michael stares at him, and after a moment the mask drops a little, and Gavin can see it in his eyes. He knows, and Gavin can only scoff out a hysterical sort of laugh.

“Yeah,” he says, “Right. So don’t ignore this like it’s not relevant, because we all know how well that goes, doesn’t it? Pretending like there isn’t _unfinished business._ Pretending something’s over when it’s not. So you two… have fun together.” He smiles, but it’s forced and grotesque. “I’m serious, do what you want, it’s not like we’re together anymore.”  
  
“Wait,” Michael says, voice slow and dark, and glances between Gavin and Jeremy. “You’re actually upset about this?”  
  
“I’m not,” Gavin says, but it’s not convincing even to his own ears.

“You fucking _are_ , Gav - seriously?” And Michael’s got that angry note in his voice that always rises up when something pisses him off, when something’s not _fair_. “Don’t you dare fucking drag Jeremy into this. You and I aren’t together anymore - that’s what _you_ wanted! And you know what? Sure, I won’t _pretend_ any more. I won’t pretend that I don’t know that right after we broke up, you and Ryan started fucking!”

It’s like a slap in the face, and Gavin rears back. He feels the blood drain from his face.

“You have no fucking clue,” he whispers, shakily, “What happened between us.”  
  
“Maybe I don’t,” Michael says, and turns away. The smile’s slipped off his face, now, he’s tense and shaking.

“Michael,” Jeremy says softly - almost warningly. He’s hanging back, awkward, not sure what to do with his hands-

But oh, Gavin wants to hurt him now. It’s all he can do.  
  
“Forget it, Michael,” he sneers, “I _don’t_ care. I said I never wanted to fucking see you again and I meant it. If I’d known you were at this party, I never would have come.”

He spins on his heel and walks off.

“Go after him,” he hears Jeremy say.

“He doesn’t want me to,” Michael replies.

Honestly, Gavin doesn’t know what he wants. What he knows is that he’s breathing too fast and that he really, really fucking needs to just go cry in a bathroom somewhere.

So he does. He power-walks down the hall as though he’s in a daze, and heads into the nearest one, and locks the door behind him. Then slumps against the wall and grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes, choking, ugly sobs bubbling up in his chest.

This whole night has just been one gut-punch after another. 

It takes him a moment to gather himself. Then, robotically, he pulls out his phone with shaking fingers and, barely thinking about it, pulls up Alfredo’s number.

_Oh shit, I’m so sorry, I had my phone off!_

_Don’t worry, I’m totally fine :)_

_I’m so sleep deprived I was concerned about passing out on the couch and my face becoming the convenient canvas for people to draw dicks in permanent marker :’D So I went home where I can just crash without the threat of being surrounded by drunk college students._

_I’ll see you guys another time and we’ll hang out then ok PEACE OUT TIME TO NAP_

He stares down at the screen for a moment, eyes scanning over his own words, reading them in his own voice; bright, chipper. And thinks, _it’s just that fucking easy._

Then he puts the phone in his pocket and sinks down to the cold tiled floor. Pulls his knees up, head buried in his arms, and falls apart.


	2. geoff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **all content warnings are on chapter one <3 **

**ii. geoff**

So this party is the pits. Which means Geoff is now just full throwing his own party in a corner of the living room.

Like seriously. The music's way too loud and also way too fucking generic, and everyone's drunk enough to start getting rowdy. He's seen way more buttcracks, dabbing and puke already than he ever wanted to, and also fifty percent of the people here are med students who seem insistent on telling him all about how his diet of cigarettes, instant ramen and black coffee is - cue fingerquotes - "shutting down literally every organ slowly." Ha!

The _Geoff party,_ on the other hand, is sophisticated, adult and refined. He's appropriated Jack's coffee maker, has made himself a fucking french-pressed brew and is now curled up behind a bamboo screen on a comfortable leather armchair, with a warm blanket, a lamp, a cat sitting on his lap, and the book he brought. Yes, he brought a book to the party. He figured there might come a moment to whip it out, or he might have the sudden urge to take a long shit. It's best to be prepared.

Now he sits, his gaze running over and over the same lines, but he can't focus, and it's not just because of the noise beyond the screen. He's felt shaky and tense since he got inside and it's impossible to ignore why.

_Fucking Ryan. And fucking Gavin. And both of them fucking each other._

He can't get any of it out of his head, and the second he thinks about it he gets all twitchy. With a low growl he lowers the book and chugs some of his coffee. That doesn't help with the twitchiness. He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs at his temples, feeling some sort of headache coming on.

He forgot how fucking exhausting it is - being angry all the time. 'cause as a kid, God, he was angry every second of every day. Angry at God, angry at his mom, angry at his circumstances. Filled with a seething resentment against the world. And then things got better, but now... now it feels like it's all been ripped away from him, and he's fucking furious. And after a while it gets... heavy. Carrying that all around.

But he can't help it. Every time he remembers how things happened he has, like, a little Bruce Banner moment where he's gotta choke down all the rage. He didn't realise until tonight how long it's been since he saw people from Ryan's campaign. He hadn't expected the sharp, piercing heat that would spread through his chest and make him want to punch them all so fucking badly.

"Ramsey!" someone calls out, and he looks up.

Some kid's poking his head around the screen, some zitty little first-year who he vaguely remembers seeing at a few of their rallies. Can't for the life of him remember the guy's name, and that's unusual for him. He must be more tired than he thought.

He forces a grin.

"Hey there?"

"Hey!" The kid scuttles around the side of the screen, looking oddly nervous. "We've never really talked before but I saw you give a speech at UAC's Pride Week thing and I - I just wanted to say how cool I thought you were. Like, it was a really, really fucking good speech."

Once that would've been everything Geoff wanted to hear. Now it just leaves a bitter, sad taste on the back of his tongue.

"Thanks, dude," he manages, and the guy smiles - shy and a bit sad.

"And I just wanted to say tough luck - about how things turned out with ACHIEVE. Like, that really sucks. For what it's worth, I voted for you."

Oh Jesus. He's trying so hard to be nice, but Geoff's smile is just a forced stretch of the lips at this point. He's quite sure it must just look liked a very, very pained grimace.

"Means a lot, buddy," he chokes out, and the kid nods and grins and gives a very awkward little wave before darting away again. He's so nervous - maybe Geoff should find it flattering. Instead it's just salt in the wound. Instead it just - reminds him of Gavin, Gavin as a shy first year student, Gavin inching his way into an ACHIEVE meeting for the first time. It was hard not to love him instantly. All their younger members still have that wide-eyed enthusiasm that so quickly gets turned into wry, old cynicism. Suddenly Geoff misses him so much it hurts.

He pushes the sleeve of his hoodie up, stares at the tattoo that's nestled just below the crook of his elbow. A bright blue and green piece of coral that seems to bloom against his skin. The colour of Gavin's eyes, the outline done in the characteristic broad, inky strokes of his art style. Geoff doesn't know how he makes art look so easy, so instinctive. He's always envied it.

Good times. It almost brings tears to his eyes to remember how things went back then - how after the campaign went so well they were all giggly, almost hyper, as they sat around Geoff's apartment all night long, talking eagerly about their victory, nearly delirious from the lack of sleep they'd all had the last few days. Jack kept making everyone white Russians _\- the chocolate milk of cocktails,_ he'd called them - and Geoff had brought a bunch of these little sea-shell chocolates, and he and Gavin had stayed awake long after everyone else crashed, playing Peggle and shooting the shit talking about the sort of things they used to do in the summer. That was the night they really clicked.

"Jesus, Gavin," he mutters. "How the fuck did we end up like this?"

What hurts the most is that he didn't see it coming, because it was a running joke in the collective how fucking much Gavin adored him, and hell, Geoff adored him right back. So when he saw him standing next to Ryan in that stupid fucking meeting that turned everything upside down...

"Fuck 'em," he whispers, and yanks his sleeve down roughly. He shoos the cat off his lap, ignoring its mewling protests, and gets up, shoving his book back in his bag and marching back out into the party. Needs to be on the move, suddenly, needs to feel like he's actually doing something.

Things are in full swing, now. There's a lot of very uncoordinated dancing going on, and something in the backyard smells like it's burning, and Geoff pastes a forced smile on his face, but his eyes are hard as he elbows his way to the kitchen.

Amongst all the strangers he keeps seeing people from ACHIEVE and he can't help but mentally catalogue whose side they all took. Meg, taking a body shot off some girl's stomach on the coffee table - no surprise she sided with Ryan. Nearby, Lindsay's got her eyes shut, arms in the air, swaying to the beat of the music pulsing from a speaker right behind her. Her hair cascades down her back like a candle's flame. That one had hurt - he'd always thought she had his back, but when push came to shove, she'd turned against him, too.

He passes Miles and Kerry, playing Nintendo on beanbags in the corner, and shoots them a small smile. They were some of his biggest supporters. Chris, precariously balancing a tray of drinks, gives him a goofy grin as he passes - Geoff nods back, smiling. Another one on his side. He can see Mariel and Tyler, sitting on a couch nearby, and the smile drops from his face. More people who abandoned him for Ryan.

_It's not personal._

That's what was thrown about a hell of a lot the last few weeks. But that's the sort of bullshit he can smell a mile away. Maybe it's not personal for Ryan, but what hurts the most is that this whole time none of them have fucking cared just how personal it was for him. And if any of them had fucking respected that, they'd've been willing to do things his way.

And now here they all are. Staying out of each other's way. Fucking hell, he doesn't know what Jack was playing at inviting them all here, and by the time he gets into the kitchen, he's spewing.

 

* * *

 

It comes automatically to raid Jack's fridge and microwave a plate of leftovers. Geoff's not an asshole, he'd ask anyone else, but even after they broke up he and Jack have been close. Close enough for him to spend half his time at the other man's house and take his food without asking - and there's been a lot of times that open door policy was the only reason he had something to eat at night.

Now he wanders out into the living room, poking at a bowl of reheated Pad Thai with some disposable chopsticks.

Usually he's the life of the party at these things. Hosts the games or starts big conversations or fields enthusiastic debates - and when you get all of ACHIEVE together there's usually a _lot_ of debates. But now he feels like a shadow on the wall, left to lurk, bringing a festering darkness everywhere he goes. After all, he's the casualty in all this. 

He kinda wants to pick a fight. It'd be cathartic, right?

But that wouldn't be fair to Jack, and he heads into the living room and sinks down on one of the couches instead, lets the music wash over him, watches people dance. His eyes fall on Ryan's jacket, slung over the arm of the couch, and he hesitates.

_Wasn't Gavin wearing that before?_

He'd run in here after their fight, and Geoff bites his lip now as he looks around, scanning the faces in the room. No sign of him. 

_Maybe he went home._

A pang of regret shoots through his chest. He'd seen the look on Gavin's face before he left. Like someone slapped him. There was a time when Geoff would've killed anyone who made him look like that.  But it's been hard, lately, not to hit below the belt. It's been hard not to want to _hurt_ each other.

Tonight wasn't a good idea. It washes over him with a sudden certainty; he knows Jack well enough to know what he was going for, here, but it's too soon. It's just - too _soon_. 

Everything's still so raw, even if Geoff knows - faintly, objectively, reluctantly - that maybe there's a day somewhere in the future where he and Gavin can understand what the fuck was going through each other's heads during the election. Because there's a lot of shit Geoff never told him about _why_ he freaked the fuck out about Birch Bunker. Not because he was ashamed, but because that chapter of his life was over, and it wasn't a book he particularly wanted to reread. And he knows Gavin's all kinds of fucked up, even if he won't admit it. How many times can Geoff remember telling him, _you know, the uni has free counselling, maybe you should talk to someone_. And Gavin would smile that goofy little smile of his and say something about how _it's not that bad, not like anything big has actually happened._

But sometimes it's not the big things. Geoff's old enough, now, to know that. It's the little things that add up.

He shakes himself. Rises and looks around. Barbara's passing by and he catches her arm on impulse.

"Hey," he says, and Barbara turns to him. Her eyes widen.

"Geoff! Hey!"

Dear God, it's like someone fucking died in here. The way her voice goes all high and shrill like she has no idea how to talk to him, like they haven't been friends for years.

"Gavin still around?" he asks, and doesn't miss the way her eyes flicker sideways, uncertainly. "Chill, Barb, I'm not looking to pick a fight with him. I'm just curious."

"I think he wanted to talk to you earlier," she admits, and Geoff bites his lip. Yeah, that went fucking well. "But he's gone home, now. Said he was too tired to stick around.”

Tension leaves Geoff's shoulders like a deflating balloon. _Not tonight, then, we won't have to deal with it tonight. Good._

He nods, slowly, and lets Barbara's arm go, but she doesn't leave. Just stands there for a moment staring at him all softly. Pity's always made him squirm and it's no more welcome now than it's ever been.

"Geoff..."

"What?" he snaps, too harshly, but Barbara doesn't flinch.

"Just - you look tired." He can tell she's picking her words carefully. "Try and relax tonight. Maybe it's time to take a bit of a break. This semester's been hard on everyone."

"Jesus, Barbara." He can't believe this, and it's a struggle to keep his voice level. "I know you mean well, but given the shit that's about to go down, this is the worst time possible for me to take a break."

"Just for one night. Or one weekend. You're no use to anyone if you're worn out." She puts a hand on his arm, smiles a little, and he manages a weak smile back. 

It would be easy to agree, to let her comfort him. Pretty, kind Barbara who never took sides, who's been there to support everyone who needs a listening ear. But some deep, ugly, self-destructive part of himself wants to lash out at her and sabotage this. _You think you deserve that? You couldn't even win. You're a fucking loser, a fucking useless loser. If you'd done better Ryan would never even have had a toehold on this shit._

He pulls his arm back, rolls his shoulders like he's stretching.

"I'll consider it," he says, and she laughs before turning and heading off to find Trevor. The smile drops from Geoff's face the second he's alone, and he turns away.

She's right about one thing. He's fucking exhausted. He doesn't think he's slept for more than three or four hours a night for the last few weeks. At first there was just too much shit he was working on. Since the election, he just can't get his mind to settle. And his apartment seems too cold, too empty, too quiet without the usual presence of a couple of people from ACHIEVE crashing on the sofa.

And even here, surrounded by people, he feels nothing but lost - unsure suddenly what to do with himself, what his place is here.

"God, I need a smoke," he mutters, and turns to head back outside, hoping the cold winter air will clear his head a little. 

 

* * *

 

"You don't look happy."

It's not even the fact someone's talking to him that pisses Geoff off, it's the fact that they thought it was a good fucking idea to hook a finger around the cord of his earphones and yank one out of his ear. Like, what the fuck. Who does that? What has society come to? It's like he's living in the fucking jungle.

He’d been lurking around the side of the house - fuming, smoking, and listening to German death metal to really work himself up - and when he spins around, ready to bite the person’s head off, he realises it’s Jack.

The anger dissolves instantly; he gives a sheepish smile.

“What gave it away?”

“Dude, I can hear your music from here. You’re gonna ruin your ears.”

“Along with my liver, lungs, heart and stomach, according to all your friends inside,” Geoff says, and Jack rolls his eyes. He rolls up his headphones and shoves his phone away. “What’s going on?”

“Came to find you.” Jack loops an arm around his, tugs him back towards the party. Geoff lets him. “I wanted to talk.”

Geoff pulls a face, but doesn’t struggle as Jack sits him down on one of the deck chairs on the back porch and sits next to him. He even lets the other man take the cigarette from his hand and stub it out in a nearby ash tray.

God, Jack’s gonna make the best doctor someday.

It’s actually something Geoff thinks about a lot, when he’s just daydreaming about where they’re all gonna be in five years (as you do). He used to have a recurring fantasy about becoming the presidential speechwriter, but sadly history did not quite line up and he missed Obama by about seven years. But Jack…

He’s always been able to imagine Jack.

He’s, like, the dictionary definition of wholesome. Surrogate father figure for everyone in ACHIEVE. And it’s not even cheesy or overdramatic for Geoff to, quite genuinely, consider the other man one of the reasons he didn’t drop out of uni years ago. Jack’s just always taken care of him - was the rock by his side back when he was going sober, nursed him back to health that one time he got swine flu, made sure he didn’t work himself into the ground for the four years he’s been in charge of ACHIEVE.

He’s the one person Geoff trusts with his life. 

Gavin’s betrayal hurt but, Geoff thinks, if Jack had turned on him too, that would have broken him beyond repair. But he didn’t, and it’s the one reason why now, by his side, he’s finally able to relax.

“What’ve you been doing?” Jack asks. “Saw you come in but you ran off before we had a chance to talk.”

“I’ve been raiding your fridge,” Geoff says, and Jack snorts a bit. After a moment Geoff rummages in his pocket and pulls out a small box. “Happy birthday.”

“Aren’t you meant to get down on one knee?” Jack teases, and Geoff blinks a few times before realising it’s the same size as a ring box. He barks out a laugh.

“We’re about three years and one long-term partner too late for that, asshole.”

“I’m hurt,” Jack teases, but takes the box. Geoff squirms a little watching him open it.

Their break-up wasn’t messy. They figured pretty quickly they were two excellent flavours that just do not taste great together. Like sushi and ice cream. But it’s impossible sometimes not to wonder how things might have played out differently.

_Enough of that_.

“Geoff, these are lovely.” Jack’s face softens as he looks down at the box. Vintage cufflinks. Geoff found them at the op shop, which coincidentally is where he buys all his gifts for people. And all his clothes. And, in fact, the majority of his non-food-related purchases. 

“It’s nothing big,” he begins, a bit sheepishly, but Jack raises a hand.

“I don’t give a fuck about that,” he says firmly, and Geoff manages a smile. Jack’s one of the few people who manage not to be condescending, even accidentally, about the whole money situation, and Geoff loves him for it. And it’s not like he didn’t put thought in. The cufflinks have a complex, twisting wrought-iron design that reminded him of the puzzles that Jack’s always carrying around in his pocket trying to solve. He’s big on them - Rubik’s Cubes and Tetris and those little rope and wood things you can get from kids’ toy shops. He watches Jack trace his thumb over the winding metal path, a smile on his face, and it makes something ease in his chest.

“There’s something I wanted to discuss with you, actually,” Jack says, tucking the box in his pocket and leaning forward.

“If it involves the words _Ryan_ , _Gavin_ or _ACHIEVE_ I’m out of here,” Geoff warns, and Jack laughs - a bit awkwardly.

“No, none of that. Our entire lives don’t revolve around that mess.”

“Mine does,” Geoff mutters, and Jack tactfully ignores him. His next words wipe the whole drama clear from Geoff’s mind, anyway.

“I’m gonna propose.”

It takes a second to sink in. When it does he starts laughing - just sort of out of shock, not meanly, more like hysterical sort of giggles. Jack laughs too, but his hands are twisting together nervously. Geoff leans forward and pounds him on the shoulder.

“Holy shit, dude. That’s - that’s great. I can’t believe it. Well, I can, but I just was not expecting _that_ tonight. But no, I’m super fucking happy for you. Shit. When?”

“After we graduate.” Jack’s cheeks are all red and it’s so _fucking_ wholesome that Geoff might throw up. Out of sheer joy. And possibly because he has no idea how old that Pad Thai he ate earlier was and he vaguely feels like it’s coming back fast and furious on him. “We’ve talked about it, so it won’t take her by surprise. We were planning a celebratory get-away to this beachside house her parents have.”

“That sounds incredible.”

“This is all assuming we _pass_ our final exams,” Jack says weakly, and Geoff waves a hand.

“Dude! I have full confidence in your skills as a doctor. Remember that one time you Heimliched a piece of sashimi out of my throat?”

“I’m glad you remember that incident as the peak of my medical skills.”

“I was about to _die_! I was about to die a delicious, salmon-y death. I saw the light. I saw Poseidon at the end of it with his arms extended to welcome me.”

“Why Poseidon?”

“Because I was choking on _fish_ , dude, keep up! Have you bought the ring?” he adds, excitedly, and Jack shakes his head.

“No, but I’ve scoped out what she wants so that’s next. I was hoping,” he adds, a bit shyly, “You’d come with me.”

“Of course!”

“And I was hoping you’d help me write the speech. I really want to make it special,” Jack says, earnest and bashful, “And I… there’s a lot I want to put into words but I’m not quite sure how. I figured if there’s anyone who can help me with that, it’s you.”

Geoff’s smile this time is very, very real. The words make something all warm and tingly spread through his chest. It’s probably the biggest compliment Jack could ever pay him - means more than he can say.

“I would be honoured,” he says, and relishes the look on Jack’s face. Because despite all the anger, the frustration, the fear and resentment - there is one thing Geoff has never been this whole time, and that is _alone._

And then, because Ryan is Ryan, destroyer of worlds, he just has to come along and ruin the fucking moment.

“Hey Jack,” he says, materialising behind them like the Ghost of Christmas Past, “Do you know where-”

He breaks off, abruptly, when he notices Geoff. They exchange stony glares. Geoff is certain his own pissed off expression is just as blue-steel as Ryan’s is. God, it’s unfair how he can make _frowning_ look like he’s modelling some sort of expensive cologne. 

“Ryan!” Jack exclaims, and there is a very uncomfortable silence, because neither of them is doing a very good job of hiding the fact that they fought about thirty minutes ago. Viciously and horrifically. Like two alley cats. Except it mostly involved two grown ass men snapping at each other and some very aggressive chain smoking on Geoff’s part. “Hey, dude!”

“Piss off,” is Geoff’s eloquent contribution, “You’re killing the vibe. We were having a great time.”

“Geoff,” Jack chides, in that disappointed soft sort of tone that Geoff thinks would be reminiscent of a father, if he had any idea what it was like to have one.

“Don’t worry,” Ryan says, coldly, “I just came to ask if you’d seen Gavin.”

“He left the party,” Geoff sneers, and Ryan turns to him with a scowl.

“You mean you drove him away,” he replies, and Geoff starts to get up off his deck chair, ready to throw hands. Jack puts a hand on his wrist to stop him.

“Don’t you dare start - _either_ of you. It’s my fucking birthday and I didn’t invite you here to fight. No, Ryan, I haven’t seen Gav,” he adds, “Not since he got here. He looked exhausted, though, I wouldn’t be surprised if he left.”

Ryan nods. To his credit, he looks a bit awkward, and Geoff hopes he’ll just fuck right off and leave them alone again. But Jack pats the deck chair next to him, and Geoff just has to huff and fold his arms when he sits down.

“Other people are getting along, despite what happened,” Jack says, sternly. “You’re adults. You can too.”

There’s a very strained pause. There’s something comical to it. After all, how many times have the three of them spent late nights sitting together making plans? Bonded over midnight instant noodles and hot cocoa? How many times has Geoff fallen asleep on Jack’s couch and woken up at dawn to the sound of Ryan quietly leaving the house to go to work?  
  
It feels like forever ago, now, and for a second a guilty pang of nostalgia spears through him.

He and Ryan have always butted horns. But despite that, Geoff can’t deny the other man has a weird, magnetic pull. He’s intimidating, but people _listen_ to him. People want to be around him, want his respect. And he’s a good speaker - he has a natural charisma that Geoff isn’t sure whether he admires or envies. And he knows how to use his words. It’s always been a battle of rhetoric between them - a battle Geoff is embarrassed to have ultimately lost.

Even now, when he hates the man more than anyone else he knows - he can’t deny Ryan has some sort of power. And part of that, he can’t help but think sourly, is that he’s fucking rich. Even now his hair is perfectly coiffed and he looks way too fucking good in some sort of expensive woolen jumper over a button-down, sleeves pushed up just enough that Geoff can’t stop looking at his forearms, pricey watch glinting in the lamplight.

He’s attractive. Geoff’s always known this. _Objectively_. And he knows, too, that it lends him a credibility that will probably serve ACHIEVE well, among a certain audience. It’s just not what he ever wanted for the group.

And next to Ryan he feels way too shabby in comparison, too childish, because Geoff on the other hand dresses like the sort of disaster that’s at the beginning of every episode of Queer Eye.

But now - now Ryan slumps back in his chair and runs his hands through his hair. Even then he only manages to look stylishly dishevelled. Geoff swallows and looks away.

“No wonder he left,” Ryan mumbles with a sigh. “You should’ve warned him Michael would be here.”  
  
Jack starts, turning towards him in confusion.

“Wait, what? I figured it was obvious?”  
  
“No, he didn’t know. It took him by surprise.”  
  
“Shit,” Jack breathes. “I thought they were okay, though?”  
  
Ryan just shakes his head. There’s a quiet, thoughtful pause in which no one can quite seem to find something appropriate to say.

“Why’d they break up?” Geoff blurts out. “Do you guys actually know?”  
  
“No,” Jack admits. “Michael just told me things didn’t work out. Too many unresolved issues - whatever that means.”  
  
“I know it was messy,” Geoff says, “But Gav never talked to me about it. And things… things escalated before we ever got the chance.”  
  
He must sound guilty, because Jack puts a hand on his wrist, squeezes.

“You had your own shit going on,” he murmurs, “Or I’m sure he would’ve come to you.”  
  
“It was Michael’s fault,” Ryan says, abruptly. They both look up.

“What?” Geoff asks.

“It was Michael’s fault they broke up.” Ryan’s staring broodily across the yard, at the revelling party-goers gathered around the beer pong table. “Gavin dumped _him_ , and if you ask me, he had a damn good reason. I know Michael’s your friend, and there’s two sides to every story, but I’m not surprised Gavin broke up with him. That’s why Michael left ACHIEVE. Gav never wanted to see him again, and the one decent fucking thing Michael did was leave the group so Gavin wouldn’t have to. He left him that, at least.”

There’s a tense, barely coiled anger in his voice, and Geoff swallows.

“You know what happened.”  
  
Ryan stirs, and for a second he looks a bit embarrassed.

“It’s not my story to tell,” he says, and Geoff’s teeth clench, feeling mocked.

“Bullshit-”  
  
“No, I’m fucking serious this time, Ramsey.” Ryan rounds on him and Jack holds up his hands, helplessly - but Ryan just stares at him, blue eyes feverish, jaw tense. “Ask Gavin yourself if you want! That’s how we got close. He spilled everything to me when I came over to his flat to collect some files he’d drawn up for us and found him in tears. I knew he needed support, so I was there for him.”  
  
Geoff stares at him, his mind slowly wrapping itself around this new information. This is a side to the story that he’d been completely unaware of, and now - looking at Ryan’s hard eyes, his clenched jaw, he can’t help but hesitate.

It’d come out of the blue, Gavin siding with Ryan - they’d barely spent time together before that. Geoff’s confusion was part of the reason he’d been so hurt.

But now, he suddenly realised things went deeper than that. There’s a whole other section of the book that he’d completely skipped over. 

Still. The more he stares at Ryan the more he can only think that there have been more secrets, more lies. He thinks of Gavin’s shy smile, how they’d stay up for hours talking and laughing in those early days when they first met. He thinks of Ryan and hours spent studying in the library together, of philosophical arguments late into the night, of how when everyone else went out for drinks the two of them would usually head to Chinatown instead to grab dinner.

Suddenly the thought of the two of them, _together,_ makes his stomach twist and a sickening, irrational resentment spread through his chest.

“Yeah,” he growls, and it’s ugly and petty and he can’t stop himself, “Then you jumped in there damn fast.”

“Geoff,” Jack warns - Ryan’s eyes are cold, his fingers clenched tight around the arms of the chair.

“Bet you jumped at the fucking chance to manipulate - no, _seduce_ \- him over to your side.”  
  
“Oh for God’s _fucking_ sake,” Ryan says, throwing his head back, laughing harshly. “Go fuck yourself, Geoff. I didn’t make Gav do anything he didn’t want to.”  
  
“So you’re telling me you didn’t become his rock to lean on, and then, when he was at his most vulnerable, convince him to support you in your plans to turn on me. Because,” Geoff says, voice getting higher now, “I can’t think of any fucking reason why he wouldn’t at least _warn_ me you were planning to run. That’s basic fucking respect.”  
  
“Jesus,” Ryan breathes, and it takes Geoff a second to register that he’s really, properly pissed off. Not hot anger, hot anger he can deal with. They’ll scratch and snap at each other, he knows how to do that. But this is cold, frozen anger, the sort that’s filled with real hatred. And he thinks of himself, thirty minutes ago, spitting in both their faces: _I hate you. I hate you both._ He’d meant it. “I don’t have to fucking listen to this.”  
  
He gets up, ignoring Jack’s protests, and stalks off into the night, spine rigid. Geoff glares after him, refusing to feel bad.

“That was unnecessary.” Jack sounds _upset_ , which is a strike straight to Geoff’s heart.

“He deserves it.”  
  
“No, he doesn’t. And Gavin doesn’t either. Look, what they did to you was shitty, I’m not disputing that. But what happened happened. It’s up to you how to react to it.”  
  
“I don’t need a fucking lecture,” Geoff says, and jumps when Jack slams a fist on the arm rest of his chair - a rare, genuine moment of anger.

“Can’t you just take the fucking high ground, Geoff?” he demands. “No one’s kicking you out of ACHIEVE. You can try and help them, try influence them as a member of the collective.”

Geoff stares at him, and after a moment Jack’s face softens. He reaches out and takes Geoff’s hand, squeezing gently, thumb running over scarred knuckles. 

“Jack… I can’t forgive this,” Geoff admits. “It hurt too much. It’s… it’s not just the election, it’s the whole principle of it.”

“What do you mean?”  
  
“I loved Gavin. Not like _that_ ,” he adds, at Jack’s raised eyebrow, “Just - from the second he came over here he was like my progeny. I was hoping _he’d_ take over the collective after I graduate, or him and Michael together. I know it sounds stupid, but you know how Gavin is. He was like a lost little puppy and I did everything to make this place a home for him. So now it’s like Ryan stole my puppy, fucked it, and then set it on me.”  
  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Geoff!” Jack scolds. “You realise how dehumanising that metaphor is, right? Gavin’s not a dog. You don’t own him and he can make his own choices.”  
  
“Yeah,” Geoff grunts, “Bad ones.”  
  
“I’m serious. Only you can fix this. So just… don’t sabotage yourself for once. You _know_ you want to fix things with them.” 

“That’s questionable,” Geoff mutters, and Jack sighs, heavily. 

“Look, I’ve said my piece. I won’t pester you about it any more. Just - you realise by holding a grudge like this you’re hurting _yourself_ as much as you’re hurting them, right?”

Geoff can’t bring himself to answer that. He looks away, jaw clenching. After a moment he takes another cigarette from his pocket. His hands are shaking, and it’s easy for Jack to pluck it from his hand and pocket it.

“Those things will kill you,” he whispers, and Geoff swallows hard.

He feels lost. That’s worse than being hurt. ACHIEVE, the group, his found family - they were _home_ for a long time. And now home’s been ripped away from him. He’s felt that before, that crushing loneliness, that sense of having nothing to come back to at the end of the day. The fear of being exposed out on the streets without four walls and a roof to shelter you. It’s a fucking bleak existence. It messes with your head. And he’d sworn long ago never to let himself feel like that again.

Ryan doesn’t understand that. He _can’t_. So he doesn’t comprehend the depth of the pain he’s caused Geoff, here. And somehow that hurts, too. That he doesn’t know. That he isn’t fucking even trying to empathise.

Geoff closes his eyes, now, and lets the sound of the party wash over him. But even surrounded by people, even under the warmth of the heat lamp, even knowing Jack’s by his side and that this is a house he’s crashed a hundred times in for the night - he feels like he’s out alone in the cold, like there’s no shelter over his head to keep the dark and night away.

 

* * *

 

Stop. Rewind. Resume.

Geoff arrives at UAC with the world’s biggest chip on his shoulder, ready to deconstruct all forms of social hierarchy, redistribute the country’s wealth, and end all forms of socioeconomic discrimination.

It’s not like UAC is even that posh a university, not like some of them. But all Geoff can notice are the law students with their designer wardrobes, the fancy headphones around people’s necks or brand-name sneakers that clearly aren’t designed for actual sports, the abundance of Apple products in lectures, the expensive food sold on campus. Some of these kids, he knows, are getting their parents to pay for tuition upfront.

He shuffles in there on a hard-won scholarship with shoes a size too small, a hoodie he’s had for six years, and a laptop he bought second hand off craigslist that freezes if you type too fast - and he’s raring to prove to anyone who fucking looks at him the wrong way that he deserves to be here as much as anyone else.

Still. He signs up to ACHIEVE at open day, and the second he attends a meeting, it feels like he's home. Their meeting room becomes his regular haunt, and their leader, Burnie, is probably his first love. They're in a lot of the same philosophy classes, and they click right away.

"You're always reading," Burnie comments, early in their acquaintance. He sinks into the couch next to Geoff, who tries not to notice how warm he feels against his side.

"Only way to improve your writing," he replies, and Burnie scoffs out a laugh.

"From what I've seen, you hardly need the help. You should start a book club," he suggests, "I'm serious, you'd be good at it. I think the queer collective was thinking of starting something, maybe you could help them out."

"Maybe," Geoff replies, and chews his lip, awkwardly, "I don't have a lot of time for anything except ACHIEVE. My scholarship covers a lot of class stuff, but I still gotta scrape together enough for rent."

To Burnie's credit, he doesn't comment, condescend or God forbid try to offer some sort of _charity._

"Fair enough," he replies, and claps him on the shoulder before wandering off. Geoff stares after him.

Burnie's like, everything he ever wanted to be growing up. Well-spoken, ambitious, with a sort of effortless confidence. He doesn't let anyone tell him shit about what to do. It feels easy to be around him, to listen to him, to believe he can change the world, and Geoff can't help but start imitating his mannerisms- the way he looks at everyone who comes to him with an idea or suggestion like they're the only person in the world, how he's patient when Geoff would usually snap back at someone, how when he's angry he turns away and takes a breath before replying.

They get close quick, but they don't talk about personal shit at first.

When Jack comes along, that changes.

He joins ACHIEVE halfway through the semester, and it feels like their little team of leaders is complete. Right now there's sort of a first-generation going on that Geoff's part of; ACHIEVE's been around years, there were others before, but this year a lot of first-and-second-years join, and it feels like a fresh start, with Burnie guiding them all.

Jack's amazing from the start. A psych student hoping to do medicine post-grad, he attaches himself to Geoff's side and sort of insistently gets to know him. He's always there with some ridiculous comment or goofy voice, and it takes Geoff a while to notice that he's trying to make him laugh.

"Why?" he asks one day, after confirming with Jack that he is in fact on that particular mission and not just prone to making outrageous comments out of the blue.

"You don't enough," Jack says, way too softly, "I'd like it if you smile more."

It takes Geoff aback. It's not something he's ever thought about, and for a second he wants to tell Jack why he's spent his whole life biting his tongue. But he doesn't, not yet, even if he wants to - to talk all about how he's spent his whole life feeling like he's hanging on the edge, like everything could fall away any minute.

With Burnie it felt like he was finally starting to get solid ground under his feet.

With Jack he finally feels safe.

The three of them are out at lunch one day - Burnie shouting them all Italian as thanks for some serious late night work on their latest project - when they get talking about their degrees.

"Why speeches?" Burnie asks. "I've been wondering for ages."

Geoff holds up a finger, busy chewing on a massive mouthful of pasta. He always eats too fast; these two are some of the first who haven't made a snide comment about it. It buys him time to think, too, to try and find a way to articulate it.

"God, my Mom wasn't happy," he says, with a scoff of a laugh. "She was like, you finally get to university and you do fucking _English?_ You think there's money in an _arts degree?_ Do something that'll get you rich, you fucking idiot." 

"Dude," Jack says, softly, but Geoff casts him a small, reassuring smile.

"Clearly I didn't listen to her. But the speeches... God, one of my strongest memories is being back at school, I must've been ten or so, and we were learning about space, right?"

"Is this leading towards you wanting to be an astronaut?" Burnie teases.

"I sure fucking hope not because as I was about to say, we learned all about the Challenger Disaster." He can't help but laugh at the faces they both pull. "Yep, pretty grim for a class of grade four students, right? Anyway, we were all in tears by the end of the documentary we were watching. But then we saw Reagan's address after it all happened, and I was... God, starstruck is the wrong word for it, but I can't think of anything else. And like, he was a fucking awful person, don't get me wrong. But that speech. Whoever wrote it, that's who I was interested in. How can you comfort a nation after something as horrifying as that? But they managed to do it. That stuck with me. And there've been a hell of a lot of others since then. Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, that shit changes the world. David Lloyd George sent millions of men to war by convincing them it was Britain's divine fucking duty. It's unbelievable. And you know, I wasn't great at English as a kid."

"I find that hard to believe," Burnie says, and Geoff swats at him.

"No, seriously, I was barely literate when I went to school. God knows there wasn't much for me to read at home. I could argue about a book all day but I couldn't analyse shit, I just couldn't wrap my head around how to write an essay. It didn't help that I'd missed a lot of school growing up. But my teacher, bless her, sent me and a bunch of other students to a slam poetry event, and man, that changed my life. Spoken word stuff, it's a whole other level. I started going every friday when I could. They had free food, but that was just another incentive. That was what taught me how to use words. That was what made me properly understand how you can - can convey an experience. Foster empathy. Get people to feel shit."

They're nodding, but he can't meet their eyes - stares at his fork, suddenly, turning it back and forth, watching the reflections of the restaurant lights glimmer back and forth along it.

"It made me believe that with the right words we can change what people think," he admits. "If we can get our voice out there... it's enough. Or at least enough to get the ball rolling."

They way they're both looking at him makes him feel all flustered and embarrassed - but after a moment Burnie's hand folds around his. When Geoff looks up, he's grinning.

"You're something, Ramsey."

Geoff snorts.

"Something good, I hope."

"Something fucking amazing." Burnie pats his hand, leans back. "Stick around."

"I'll try to," Geoff laughs. Jack reaches across the table, squeezes his arm, and in that moment all he can think of is how much he loves them both. He doesn't make friends easy, but for the first time it properly feels like he's found a family.

 

* * *

 

Ryan's entry into ACHIEVE shakes things up more than anything else.

They're coasting. The uni's happy with what they're doing, and right now most of their campaigns are various environmental efforts, which is always a bit less upsetting than some of the human rights stuff they do.

When Ryan walks into a meeting one afternoon and sits down, it rankles Geoff immediately, nearly making him falter in the minutes he's taking down.

It's not like he knows Ryan. Hell, he's never seen the guy before. He doesn't even interrupt or say anything. But the wealth... it's practically dripping off him, seeping from every pore in a way that's clearly fucking effortless. The brand-name clothes, the perfectly coiffed hair, the little gold engraved initials - _J.R.H._ \- on his laptop case? And the way he carries himself, back straight and hands folded in his lap like he had fucking etiquette lessons growing up.

Don't get him wrong, Geoff doesn't like to make assumptions off appearance. But he knows what money looks like, and it makes his own shoulders tense.

The meeting breaks up. It's a busy time of semester and most people depart immediately, including Burnie. Geoff's the one person left who spoke enough during the meeting that he’s noticeably an important part of the group. Of course the guy approaches him.  
  
“Hey,” he says, lingering in front of Geoff, who’s sitting on the couch scowling as he tries to get the minutes to upload to google-drive.

“Hey,” he replies. Suspiciously. He is convinced that he can smell Ryan’s hair product from here.

“I’m interested in joining ACHIEVE,” Ryan says, and his voice is so flat and awkward and deadpan that Geoff can’t help but be snippy.

“Yeah? I couldn’t tell from the way you sat through the entire meeting.” He looks up in time to see Ryan’s jaw clench.

“Do I have to sign up or something?”  
  
“No, you can just show up and you’re part of the group. But I can add you to the Facebook page if you want. That’s where we organise most events.”  
  
“Yes, please,” he says, stiltedly, and Geoff makes a furious show of typing.

“Name?”  
  
“Ryan Haywood,” he says, then catches himself. “But on Facebook my name’s James.”

_Haywood_. It sounds familiar, but the connection hovers just out of Geoff’s reach. 

“Right,” he says, and then, uncharitably and for no real reason, thinks, _only assholes go by their middle name._ It’s not even true, but it just sort of pops into his head. “And what brings you here, Ryan Haywood?”

“You do good work.” His voice is oddly sincere. “I’d like to make a difference.”  
  
“Yeah? Whatcha study?”  
  
“Law,” Ryan says, solemnly, and Geoff has to scoff. He hears Ryan’s teeth click in annoyance. “What?”  
  
“Nothing, just. I could tell.” His eyes flick up and down Ryan, from the top of his coiffed hair to his luxury sneakers.

Ryan looks cross, but he takes a deep breath, folding his arms.

“Family law, actually,” he replies. “I did my school work experience at a firm that did a lot of pro bono cases. It got me interested.”  
  
“And have you done a lot of activism before?”  
  
“Not really,” Ryan admits, “But now I’m at uni I figured it’d be easier to get involved in.”  
  
“Huh. Maybe,” Geoff replies, distracted as he adds Ryan to their Facebook group. He hasn’t got a profile picture. Geoff always finds that kinda shady.

“What do you do then?” Ryan asks, and Geoff looks up, a bit surprised.

“Arts. Major in English.”  
  
Ryan nods. He doesn’t comment, just sort of stares awkwardly for a moment before giving an aborted little wave.  
  
“Well, bye then.”  
  
“Bye then,” Geoff mimics. He watches Ryan leave, and huffs out a breath, figuring he’ll be one of the many who just shows up once then forever lurks on their FB page and never actually comes to meetings.

But no.

Mr J.R.H. keeps showing up, again and again and again. He’s quiet at first, getting his bearings, but slowly he starts piping up more and more, hanging out in the meeting room later on with some of the other regulars, and Geoff can’t help - through sheer fucking exposure - starting to _learn_ things about him.

His father is James Haywood Senior, a prominent barrister and one of the wealthiest men in their city.

He doesn’t drink, but always brings a diet coke to meetings.

He’s well read, dropping references to Shakespeare, Chaucer, Eliot, Orwell, things that usually only Geoff picks up on. 

He went to some fancy-ass private school where he played lacrosse, learned Latin, and was apparently vice-captain.

_What a prick_ , is really all Geoff can think. He resents everything about Ryan. It’s petty, and not like him. He’s not usually ever _jealous_. But something about Ryan - rich white boy Ryan - all up in his face, in his space, in _his_ collective… it grates him. He resents everything Ryan has that he doesn’t. He resents his fancy cufflinks, his takeaway coffees, his expensive cologne (look, it smells really fucking good so he figures it has to be expensive), his fucking _iphone_.

And it’s not like he dislikes Ryan for no reason.

Because the second Ryan starts speaking up in meetings he, oh God, gains _confidence_ , and it turns out he is a fucking _freak_. 

Like, look, okay, this is Geoff’s philosophy - get this, right. You gotta be loud, sure. You gotta get your voice heard, you gotta get on the streets where they can see you. But you’re not gonna change people’s minds by making them hate you - by throwing punches, by getting into scraps with the police. And you sure as shit aren’t gonna get anything done by vandalising and actually _destroying_ shit.

Peaceful protest. That’s what he’s about. Loud but peaceful, no destruction of personal property or bodily harm involved.

And words.

Words, to him, are enough to shift the tide. He’s seen it. He believes it. If you can find the right words, can make them _see_ , all you need is a platform. Whether that’s a speech, a chant at a protest, a sign at a picketing. It’s, like, the Jesus philosophy.

Ryan? Ryan’s got the fucking _V For Vendetta_ philosophy. Ryan wants them to storm fucking Parliament House, storm the dean’s office. Ryan’s bright ideas involve such gems as setting fire to the university football field (you want us to get arrested?), throwing paint bombs at disagreeable guest speakers (yeah, if you want us to get a fucking _restraining order_ ), setting up spikes on the road so the police can’t storm their protest ( _that’s super fucking illegal Ryan!)_. 

Jesus. It’s always the quiet ones, right? Ryan gets this manic sort of glint in his eye, and he doesn’t want to _influence_ the course of the world, no, he wants to grab the world by the fucking balls and squeeze until it does what he wants.

They end up in a lot of shouting matches that Burnie seems to find _far_ too amusing, and God, Geoff doesn’t think he’s ever felt as alive as he does when he’s staring into Ryan’s intense blue eyes, fists clenched, up in each other’s faces, words barrelling out on top of each other-

And he hates him, sure, he thinks he’s out of his damn mind-

But he can’t deny he finds it exhilarating, because most people can’t keep up with Geoff in an argument. He knows _words_ too well. Knows how to build them on top of each other until they’re an insurmountable fortress - syllables to sentences to paragraphs, in perfect formation.

And Ryan - Ryan’s tongue is as silver as his is.

So Geoff _enjoys_ it, their intellectual battles, and he can’t deny that it helps him too. It helps him strengthen his own argument, consider other perspectives, figure out exactly what he means and find new ways to express it. And sometimes, he catches Ryan’s own small, rare smiles as he turns away - both of them breathless, tongues aching - and knows he feels the same.

So they hate each other. Sort of. They hate each other like… like Kate and Petruchio, like Holmes and Moriarty, like Enjolras and Grantaire. They balance each other out. They _need_ each other.

Soon Ryan's a staple of ACHIEVE, and even Geoff has to admit things are better with him there. Because he's enthusiastic, you can't deny that, and smart as hell, and well-read, and has all sorts of connections.

The semester wears on. Geoff falls into new routines. He quits his job at Subway, gets a better one working admin at the university. It leaves him more time to help out with ACHIEVE since he's on campus a lot more.

He and Burnie start a thing. It's comfortable and everything feels easy with him, and for five months it's nice to have someone to come back to at the end of the day, someone who makes him close his books when he's studied too long and too hard, someone to spill all his secrets to-

But Burnie's graduating at the end of the year, and when he gets a fucking amazing job offer across the country there's no question he has to take it. Neither of them think long distance is a good idea. It's amicable. It hurts, but it's amicable.

No one else but Geoff runs for president of ACHIEVE when election season comes around. It's not surprising - a lot of the group are first-years, and no one's as involved as he and Jack and Ryan are, so he's unanimously voted in. Burnie leaves big shoes to fill, but Geoff's got Jack and Ryan at his back. He drives Burnie to the airport before he leaves, promises to keep him updated on how they go back at UAC, and cries on and off for about three hours afterwards before taking a deep breath and plunging headlong into his new role.

It's shortly after that - when they're just starting second-year - that Ryan and him start playing chess.

It starts with some offhand comment about Ryan mentioning missing the game, having no one to play with.

"There's a chess club at uni," Geoff answers, distractedly. They've just wrapped up a meeting.

"They're too good. I want to play someone on my level. It's been years since I played at school, so I'm rusty."

"Lacrosse, chess, Latin, what the fuck else did you do at that place?" Geoff mutters, and Ryan gives one of his rare laughs.

"We actually had a Quidditch team, but that's a story for another day. You know how to play?"

"Sure. It came free on my laptop and I got bored in a study break once." It takes him a second to realise what Ryan's getting at; he looks up to find the other man staring at him intensely. "Fine. Can't hurt."

They start meeting at Ryan's flat after meetings about once a week. Geoff enjoys those times more than he'll admit - neither of them are drinking at that point so it's a nice chance to wind down over hot tea and Chinese takeaway, and Ryan's place is a lot nicer than his own shoddy little apartment, and taking their battles of wits from the verbal to the strategic is good fun. They're equally good (or equally bad, depending on how good you are at chess), so wins are about fifty-fifty, and the competition is fun.

It's hard not to get talking - sometimes about ACHIEVE, sometimes about class, but more often about unrelated stuff, stuff they don't usually otherwise find time to chat about since more often than not they're only together when they're working on something. Movies or books or plays, philosophical questions, current affairs.

Or themselves. Sometimes.

"Why do you hate me?" Ryan asks - later Geoff won't even remember how that came up; the question sticks in his head, not the context.

"What?" It takes him so by surprise that he forgets the move he was about to make, looking up at Ryan with a frown.

"Why don't you like me?" Ryan repeats, and smiles a bit. "We've known each other six months now, Geoff. It's not hard for me to tell."

"I don't dislike you!" Geoff says.

"Oh, that's much better-"

"No, it's not that," Geoff explains. "You're good company, Ryan, and you're important to ACHIEVE. But we don't..."

"Connect?" Ryan offers. "Not like you do with Jack or any of the others."

"Yeah," Geoff says, quietly. "You just don't get me. Our backgrounds are so different."

Ryan doesn't look upset, just thoughtful. It's funny, Geoff thinks, he doesn't think he could have so rational a conversation about something like this with anyone else. Relationships are usually too involved for things like that. Too personal.

"That's true, I suppose," he says, "But that doesn't mean we haven't had any sort of similar experiences. That doesn't mean we can't relate to each other."

Geoff can't help how embarrassingly loud his snort is. Ryan raises an eyebrow.

"You disagree?"

"Yeah, no, sorry dude. Don't even try and tell me you can relate to the sort of things I went through growing up because that shit bleeds into the rest of your life. You have no fucking clue what it was like to grow up dirt poor. What it's like to come home and know there's fuck all in the cupboards to eat. To wear clothes until they're literally falling apart. To hear your Mom crying every night because she doesn't know how she's gonna scrape together enough to pay rent. Like, dude, your school had a fucking swimming pool."

He doesn't mean it angrily, and Ryan doesn't take offence. He just nods, slowly, eyes hooded and thoughtful.

"Even now," Geoff continues, "I can't bring myself to spend on frivolous shit. I triple check how much I have for rent. I can't waste food. It's always in the back of my head. You could have nothing. You could lose everything again. Some habits you can't break."

"That makes sense," Ryan says, and chews at his lip thoughtfully. "I can't pretend to relate on that front. I know I've had the privilege of never having to worry about living comfortably. But things weren't perfect. My parents are rich, but I'm not close to them. Especially my father."

"At least you have one," Geoff mutters - it's uncharitable, he knows it's not a contest, but he feels oddly vulnerable and part of him wants to be snippy - "Mine fucked off before I was born."

To Ryan's credit, he doesn't rise to the bait and drag them into some sort of poverty pissing contest. He just nods, eyes soft and sympathetic.

"I'm sorry."

Geoff makes his move and feels a grudging sort of guilt. It dawns on him that he really doesn't know much about Ryan's home life. After all, they rarely get this personal.

"You out to your parents?" he grunts after a moment.

"No, although I feel like they have their suspicions," Ryan replies. His gaze is fixed on the chessboard. "There seems to be a don't ask don't tell policy in place in my house."

"That sucks. You ever date a guy?"

"Several. I went to an all boys boarding school, it was hard not to."

Geoff laughs, and after a moment Ryan does, too, and the tension pretty much breaks there. That first conversation seems to bring them to some sort of understanding, and their weekly evening games continue. They share in scattered bits and pieces.

"My mum spent most of my childhood drunk-"

"I didn't see my dad for most of my high school years because he was working overseas. He didn't come to my graduation-"

"Waiting to see if I got the scholarship to UAC was the most terrifying part of my life. If I hadn't gotten it there would've been nothing for me-"

"My parents pushed for me to go into politics. Somehow I doubt they'd approve of the type of politics I'm interested in-"

A picture is painted, slowly - but it's distant, flat. They never go deep into things. They talk about experiences, but not how they made them feel. And Geoff, despite himself, does feel closer to the other man. Sometimes so close it's nearly overwhelming. Ryan's just - intense. His gaze, his silence, his presence, his low voice. And Geoff would be lying if he said he didn't find him attractive, if there wasn't something there. But nothing ever lines up, and they don't push it.

Time goes on.

Second year passes, third. Geoff learns what it's like to have enough in the bank to not have to worry, to be a couple of meals ahead, but the scars don't ever really go away. He dates Jack, and then he doesn't. 

Honours year. Michael joins ACHIEVE, then Jeremy. Geoff starts his second degree. Gavin comes along and Geoff loves him immediately. Something in his eyes reminds Geoff of himself, something lost and hungry. They click in a way he rarely does with people. He can see himself and Gavin going on forever, forever, can see him growing up, can see himself guiding him. The sort of once in a lifetime friendship that you rarely come by.

And every year he's elected president of ACHIEVE. No one else runs. And he builds up the group, they grow and grow and grow and he thinks nothing can ever take them down.

 

* * *

 

Here's where it all really begins to fall apart.

Ryan comes into their meeting five minutes late all purposeful-like and declares, "Scrap whatever you're working on. Something bigger's come in."

They gather around the files he’s put on the table, and Geoff’s heart sinks into his shoes. The building in the photograph is familiar - he just never thought he’d see it again so soon, and it strikes him with an irrational panic that he can’t explain. It’s just - unexpected. It brings him back, suddenly and without warning.

“Birch Bunker,” Ryan announces, all fierce and tight and passionate the way he gets when he’s really riled up about something. “The homeless shelter out in the western suburbs. They want to bulldoze it down to build a car park for the new Supamart that just opened near there.”  
  
“That’s fucked,” Jack says. “They’re not planning to pay to reopen it anywhere else?”  
  
“‘As yet unannounced,’” Ryan says, “Which basically means no.”  
  
“Bastards,” Michael grunts, and Gavin, next to him, puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Surely the city can’t be okay with this,” he says, and Ryan shrugs.

“It’s not getting much attention in the media,” he says. “The shelter already got a bunch of signatures on a petition, but it’s pretty much been ignored. The city council’s in full favour because this Supamart’s bringing in a lot of money. And the residents in that area have been wanting one close by for ages.”  
  
“And there’s nowhere else the car park could go?” Jack asks.

“Nowhere convenient. Geoff?” Ryan turns to him and he realises he’s been standing silently, fists clenched. He swallows, hard, feeling dazed.

“What?”

“We’re going in on this, right?” Ryan says, eyebrow raised. “Because it’s way more important than-”  
  
“Of course,” Geoff says, vacantly. “Yeah, of course we’re gonna work on it. One sec, sorry, I just remembered I need to make a phone call.”

He can see the confusion on their faces as he turns away, but his heart’s pounding frantically now and he has to get out.

“Keep planning!” he fires back over his shoulder, and rushes from the room.

He’s never bailed on a meeting before, and he knows, absently, that he’ll have to go back in there and figure out what to say. That if they’re gonna commit to this they need _his_ voice more than anyone else’s. But he just - needs a second, and he heads around the back of the building and lights a cigarette with shaking hands.

_Breathe. Just breathe_. He closes his eyes, wills his hands to stop trembling.

“Geoff?”

Jack’s hand is on his back, running down his shoulder-blade, a warm presence against his side. He doesn’t push, even when Geoff doesn’t reply for a few minutes, just stands and waits patiently.

“Sorry,” Geoff chokes out finally.

“You’re good,” Jack assures him. “You alright?”

He nods. After a moment the pressure in his chest eases and he manages to look up at the other man. They haven’t been together in a long time, they’ve both moved on and there’s nothing lingering between them, but he doesn’t think Jack will ever stop feeling like safety, like home. It’s calming just to be around him.

“You know why, right?” he whispers, and Jack nods.

“I remember.”  
  
“That place is the only reason I’m not dead.”  
  
“We’re not gonna let them do this,” Jack says, firmly. “We’ve got your back on this, Geoff. Whatever you want us to do, we’ll do it. You built ACHIEVE into what it is today. We’re strong enough to stop this.”  
  
“I hope so,” he murmurs, but Jack reaches out and jostles his shoulder.

“I _know_ ,” he insists, and Geoff manages a small smile. Jack sticks close to him as they go back inside, and a slightly awkward hush falls when they re-enter the room, but Gavin comes up to Geoff then and loops his arm through his, staring up at him with that starry-eyed look that always makes Geoff feel like he could do anything in the world. He thinks in that moment that he could tell them his story, tell them _why_ this matters so much.

But he doesn’t. In the moment he is a coward and he just says, “Okay, then, let’s do this.”

One month. At the time it just feels like a nightmare, an endless daze of sleep deprivation, disappointment, caffeine headaches and too many trips to the last stall in the bathroom to freak the fuck out in private.

Later, he’ll only remember bits and pieces. A string of flashing failures.

They try a lot of things. Nothing works.

They go to the news, to a program that’s big in their state for covering community stories that aren’t getting traction anywhere else - only to find that the Supamart’s already paid them off to run another piece on the way it’s brought more jobs and created more social connections in the community, especially for elderly residents who can’t travel far to do their grocery shopping.

They publish their own article online, on a fairly popular news platform that Meg, in her final year of a media degree, has contacts in - but that same week there’s a horrific murder case in AC that blows up in the news and completely overshadows it. It’s no one’s fault, and Geoff can’t blame the public for that one, but it still feels like fate’s turning against them.

They put weeks into organising a big protest, one that actually gets a lot of public support. A hoard of them descend on the Supamart but it all goes to shit when the cops show up and start pushing them around. Ryan has the bright idea of throwing rocks at cop cars, even as Geoff’s screaming at him not to, and of course that’s what the press run with, not the reason they were there in the first place. They drag themselves back home battered, bruised, and disillusioned; Geoff’s eyes are running with tear gas, Gavin’s nose is bleeding where someone’s elbow smashed into it, Michael’s got two black eyes and looks like a raccoon. Geoff goes home, breaks three glasses against the wall, and has an hour-long panic attack in the bathroom before passing out.

A week later he prepares for the meeting they’ve scheduled with the mayor. It’s gonna need to be damage control now as much as them putting their case forward. He’s halfway out the door when Michael and Gavin come up the steps to his apartment.

“Geoff,” Gavin says quietly, and puts a hand on his chest.

“Everything okay?” Geoff asks, instantly concerned.

“We’re okay,” Michael adds, “But you’re not. Dude, when did you last sleep?”  
  
He opens his mouth only to realise he can’t remember. Gavin’s hands are fussily straightening his collar, his tie, fixing his hair, but he’s not meeting Geoff’s eyes, and Michael’s got this look on his face that makes Geoff suspicious.

“Why are you guys in suits?” he demands. “I’ve never seen you wear a fucking suit in your life, Michael.”  
  
“Excuse you, I’ve been to funerals,” is Michael’s idea of an appropriate response to that, “But seriously, dude, you look like shit. No offence. We got this handled.”

“What?”  
  
“We’ll go, Geoff.” Gavin smiles at him, hands on his shoulders. “Michael and I. We insist. This is stress you don’t need. _Rest.”_

Geoff stares at him. A thousand thoughts flash through his head, none of them pretty. _You think I’ll fuck this up? You think I can’t do this? You think we don’t actually have a chance?_ But then he registers exactly how fucking exhausted he is, how much he actually does _not_ want to go out today, how much the dread has been leaden in his chest.

He looks at the two of them - standing side by side, now, inseparable since they started dating. A matching set in their black suits, Gavin’s hair slicked back, gazes firm and purposeful. And thinks, if he goes there now his voice will shake and slur, he’ll get emotional halfway through, he’ll ruin this. But Gavin - Gavin’s got the sort of calm innocence that makes people want to please him. And Michael’s got fire. The two of them balance each other out. They have this covered.

“Okay,” he whispers, and Gavin moves in and hugs him, briefly, tightly.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs in Geoff’s ear, and Geoff hugs him back.

He has to worry.

Oh _boy_ does he have to worry, because just two hours later Gavin calls him in tears and tells him exactly how brutally and efficiently they got shut down by the mayor and Geoff doesn’t really hear the rest of it because he goes all cold and shaky and numb and even when Michael gets on the line and starts loudly and enthusiastically outlining their next plan, Geoff can only think, over and over again, _we’re gonna lose. We’re gonna lose._

This is around the time when Ryan just goes totally nuts and presents his own plan at their next meeting.

“They’re not gonna stop until they get their carpark,” he informs them, “So we need to get rid of the motive. We need to bring down the Supamart.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Geoff snaps, flicking through his slideshow presentation with increasing horror, “We are not gonna vandalise the place repeatedly until it runs out of business and shuts down. Like, you realise people _work_ there, right? And we’re definitely not gonna lie in wait and rob the delivery trucks before they can bring the supplies every morning, like, what the fuck, Ryan. We’re not highwaymen.”

“Fine, you don’t want violence. We don’t need it. Let’s orchestrate a scandal that will stop people going there to shop. No business, no Supamart.”  
  
“That’s not any _better!”_  
  
There’s a lot of screaming and shouting after that point and it turns out to be the biggest fight they’ve ever had and when Geoff finally manages to shut that shit down - by standing on the table and _screaming_ at the top of his lungs “ _I’m the president and we’re not doing it and that’s final!”_ \- everyone’s staring at them white-faced and silent and Gavin’s hiding under the table and Miles and Kerry have retreated behind the couch.

He leaves that meeting drained and exhausted and stands in the freezing cold smoking until everything’s numb. Ryan comes up next to him and Geoff can feel him shaking. They don’t speak for a while until finally Ryan takes a deep breath.

“You’re too close to this,” is all he says, voice low and flat.

Geoff throws down his cigarette, snubs it out with his heel.

“You’re not close enough,” he growls, and walks away before they can get into another fight.

Their last resort is the local community meeting at the town hall where you can bring up your concerns in a public forum. He’s slaved over a heartfelt speech that involves a lengthy anecdote into his own time at Birch Bunker. Because of that he refuses to show anyone except Jack, just tells them all, “I got this. I found the words. I’ll make them understand.”  
  
They trust him enough not to push it, trust him enough to even agree not to come along. The way that Gavin nods with complete faith makes Geoff believe in himself, too, and even though he throws up the morning of the forum he still drags himself over there and when he stands up in front of the mic all his nerves fizzle away and he gives himself over to the rhetoric.

And it doesn’t work.

There’s sympathy, sure, and he gets a lot of applause, but it all comes down to the fucking selfishness of humanity, to the fact that these people don’t want to give up their own comfort, their own convenience.

And the hardest thing he’s ever had to do so far is go back to ACHIEVE and tell them it wasn’t enough, that he failed.

He’s running on no sleep at this point. He feels like his vision is lagging, like everything around him is moving all choppily and in slow-motion. Ryan won’t stop fucking bringing up his own plans, something stupid now about building a barricade around the shelter and not letting the construction crew in. Geoff wants to scream in his face, _it’s not fucking Les Miserables and even if it was you know how that ended_. But he doesn’t, he just keeps telling him, as though on autopilot _, no, we’re not, we can’t, it doesn’t work like that. We just have to convince them. We just have to make them see._

And then one night, just past midnight, he gets the call. 

_Is this Geoff Ramsey?_  
  
_We need you to come to the hospital._

And then, under harsh fluorescent lights, _your mother’s passed away, we need you to identify the body._

The world collapses. There’s so much to deal with, so much he never thought he’d have to get in order. And the last thing he expects is that things could somehow get _worse_ after all this, but oh, they will. How they will.

 

* * *

 

So here we are now.

The music’s too loud, by this point. It’s giving Geoff a headache. Then again said headache could’ve been caused by about a million other things. He spends a while lying down in the backseat of Jack’s car, listening to the revelry outside like it’s distant and underwater. Then he goes back in and is making a cup of tea in the kitchen when Michael and Jeremy enter and start mixing themselves some drinks.

It takes them a minute to notice him. In that minute, _he_ notices a lot. Like the easy, casual way they’re touching each other, and how there’s a hickey sucked high into the side of Jeremy’s neck.

“Geoff!” Michael cries, when he finally registers him.

“Michael,” Geoff says, and nods. “Been a while, buddy.”

Michael looks away. Geoff thinks of what Ryan said; _Gavin dumped him. It was Michael’s fault. He had a damn good reason_. He feels, suddenly, very old.

Ideologically, he knows Michael would’ve preferred to side with Ryan. But maybe, to spite Gavin, he would’ve been on Geoff’s side. Now Geoff nods between the two of them.

“Didn’t know you two were together. How long’s that been going on?”  
  
“We’re not,” Jeremy blurts out, looking almost shocked. “Together, that is.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“It’s just a casual thing,” Michael clarifies, “Just a bit of fun.”  
  
“Right.” Geoff turns away, pours his tea. Hears them whisper furiously behind him. When he turns back around Jeremy’s materialised right up in his face like a fucking Weeping Angel. “Jesus, personal space!”

“Sorry.” Jeremy takes a step back. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Do I not look okay?” Geoff demands, and Jeremy’s face softens.

“I just haven’t seen you since we lost.”

_We lost._ Those two little words somehow soothe something in Geoff that he’d barely realised was broken. _We lost. Not you lost. You’re still a team. You’re not alone._

“I’m fine,” he says, gentler, and Jeremy nods. He looks back at Michael and Geoff realises how strained they both look, how tired. Seems like no one at this shindig is really having a relaxing night.

“You’re really not together,” he repeats, and they both look embarrassed. “What is it, like friends with benefits?”

Michael nods, and Geoff claps him on the shoulder as he heads out.

“Just be careful,” he calls, “Shit gets complicated quickly.”  
  
He honestly doesn’t really know what to think as he drifts back out into the party. Just that he misses Michael, misses when they were close, when he knew what to _expect_ from him - and from Gavin, and from _everyone,_ really. And Jeremy’s been a loyal support this whole time and Geoff doesn’t want to see him hurt, too.

Now it feels like everything’s awkward, and he drinks his tea and watches everyone around him slowly get more wasted, and his anger comes and goes like crashing waves. One second he’s feeling relaxed, detached from the world, like maybe he can just walk out of UAC after graduating and not look back at all these assholes. The next he wants to scream in all their faces, _get with it, stop wasting your lives, go and do something fucking worthwhile for once._ He sees his campaign mates and is filled with surges of love and affection. He sees those who turned against him and wants to throw his drink in their faces.

He wanders room to room, not talking to anyone, just watching, absorbing the energy of the crowds. He wants to fight someone, or maybe fuck someone, he isn’t sure which-

But eventually he ends up outside, in the freezing cold again, out on the front porch. There’s a crumpled pile of garbage against the front wall; a heavy wind’s picked up, speckled with rain, and blown a bunch of paper rubbish over from the campus across the street.

He picks them up on environmental principle only to freeze; it’s a bundle of Ryan’s campaign leaflets, and for a second everything about it fills him with a sick, bitter ire.

_Actions speak louder than words._ That was Ryan’s slogan, printed in bold black against the bottom of the page. Above it, Gavin’s familiar art style has cast Ryan as an avenging angel.

He feels hot all over, staring at it. And then cold and shaky. And then just sort of numb, and he finds himself standing by the recycling bin, hood up against the rain, mechanically tearing each leaflet in half and throwing it out.

When someone comes up behind him, something about the height and shadow of them makes him think it’s Miles.

“Hey dude,” he begins, only to freeze when he turns and sees Ryan. With near-comical slowness, he looks down at the paper. Then back up at him.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks. Ryan’s jacket’s back on and his hood’s up, like he was on his way out.

“I have an early start tomorrow,” Ryan says, flatly. And then doesn’t leave, just stands there, even as Geoff slowly and deliberately tears another of his leaflets in half.

“If you’re waiting for an apology,” Geoff spits finally, “You’re wasting your time.”

“Did you mean it?” Ryan asks.

“Mean what?” Geoff asks - confused for a second, off-balance.

“That you hate us. Because there’s a difference between not seeing eye-to-eye and hatred. And there’s a difference between… between not connecting to someone and hating them.”

Geoff stares at him. Ryan’s voice is funny, stilted; he doesn’t know what the other man’s thinking. And for a second something flashes through his mind, a memory - pawns sliding across a chess-board, Ryan’s big hands deftly moving pieces, the smell of peppermint tea.

Hate’s a strong word. But the painful block in his chest is strong, too. He swallows - and then on impulse blurts out, “You know I was at Birch Bunker, right?”

Ryan freezes. For a second he looks genuinely caught off guard.

“When I was - God, sixteen, seventeen? A bit before my last year of high school, I left home because my mother was drinking so much and shit was getting ugly.” He thought he’d get emotional talking about this, instead it’s all just sort of numb. Hollow. “I stayed with a friend for a bit, then his parents kicked me out and I had nowhere to go. I slept on the streets for two nights and there is no way I could possibly make you understand how it feels to spend a night on a park bench or under a bridge. Just - there’s no way to describe it. How vulnerable you feel. How fucking _low_. Like you’re not even a human anymore. Just a piece of garbage on the ground. Then I went to Birch and they took me in. And I was there for two weeks before I got my feet under me again. Ryan, that was the middle of winter and the coldest two weeks AC has had in the last fifty years. I would have died if it wasn’t for that shelter.”  
  
“Geoff…” 

Ryan trails off. He for once seems to have no idea what to say. Geoff can’t even blame him. 

“You think I wasn’t taking the campaign seriously? I took it so seriously it made me physically sick. I would have done anything to save that place. But there are limits, Ryan. And I don’t regret trying to enforce them.”

Ryan bites his lip. He looks like he’s about to say something - then his phone vibrates. He looks down at it and swears.

“Shit. I - I really have to take this.”  
  
“Go ahead.” Geoff feels drained now, exhausted. He dumps the rest of the papers in the bin and turns away, shuffling back into the house, dripping wet and exhausted now.

Inside it’s too warm, too noisy, too crowded. If anything there seem to be _more_ people than there were before; the walls are practically pulsing and someone’s dimmed the lights and it feels a bit like he’s in a dream.

He’s headed for the bathroom, all his coffee catching up to him, when he sees a flash of bright pink passing by and his head turns.

_Gavin?_

It takes him a second to find him in the crowds, but then his gaze latches onto him, pushing his way between shuffling, dancing bodies. Gavin’s eyes are red and his hair is messy and Geoff doesn’t quite know what to think.

_So he’s still here? He didn’t go home? The fuck-_

On impulse, he starts after him, only for someone to bump into him so hard that they both practically bounce off each other.

“Shit!” Geoff hisses. “Sorry, dude-”  
  
Only to freeze at the face that looks up into his, eyes wide and mouth set in a hard line. Geoff’s words die in his throat, and before he has the chance to say anything the guy’s turning and slipping away into the crowds without a word, vanishing like it’s fucking Assassin’s Creed. Geoff can only stand frozen, more confused than ever, light and music washing over him, wondering where the hell this evening is about to go.

_There’s no_ way _Jack invited him._

_What the fuck is Ray doing here?_


	3. jack

**iii. jack**

Jack's hands are shaking as he reaches his bedroom door. He fumbles with the key in his pocket, scratching the rim of the keyhole about five times before he manages to get it in.

It feels like he's being chased. Like the red lights and throbbing music are creeping up the back of his skull, snaking fingers into his ears and around his neck. He gets inside and slams the door shut behind him. Locks it. Relishes, for a moment, the cool, blissful dark.

_God, I hate big parties._

He pads over to the bed and sits down, slowly. Part of him wants to curl up and let the rest of the evening just slip away. Wake up to a silent dawn and pace the house with a garbage bag, picking up the remnants of the evening before.

_That's what we always do, isn't it? Let things play out. Clean the mess up after._

Not this time - he can't stay here, even if he wants to. There's too much still to do.

But God if he isn't so, so tired. He pulls the cufflinks Geoff gave them from his pocket, feels his heart clench as he runs his thumb gently across the twisting metal, the complex winding paths. He thinks, _there's no puzzle that can't be worked out, nothing that can't be fixed somehow. There's always a possible solution, if you time things right._

_Nothing lasts forever._

With a sigh, he reaches to put the cufflinks on the dresser. His alarm clock blinks at him, harsh red numbers spelling out 10:14pm. His heart clenches.

_The night's wearing on._

_You're running out of time._

He should get back out there, get the plates spinning again, start putting things in motion. But for a second, he just wants to sit here and take a breath. Gather his thoughts. For a second, he wants to be alone, and not have to think about his friends and all their shit. He pulls his phone from his pocket and smiles. Caiti's left him half a dozen messages.

_Hey! Hope the evening's going well <3_

_I wish I could be there. Don't worry if things don't go the way you think right away, alright?_

_Also when I get back I'll take you out somewhere nice, give you a proper birthday celebration._

_p.s. don't let the house get too destroyed._

The last few are just her usual string of goodnight emojis. Still, the sight puts a smile on Jack's face. He loves his girlfriend more than anyone else in the world, and wishes with a sudden ache that she was here, too. Hell, she would be, if she wasn't on a rural nursing placement out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Maybe things would be going more smoothly if she was - she has a knack, somehow, of getting people to open up, to put aside their own selfishness for a moment. To connect.

And he wants her here, too, because right now, given the way the evening's going, he feels like he's in way the fuck over his head. He's not just playing with fire, here, he's fucking juggling half a dozen molotov cocktails and hoping they don't blow up in his face.

But when he told Caiti, _we need to do something about this, I think I need to do something_ \- she didn't tell him he was an idiot, or that it wouldn't work, or that he should mind his own damn business. She just leaned in and kissed him and said, "You're a good friend, Jack. Better than they deserve."

"They deserve to be happy. If I can make that happen, I'm going to."

"I know, and I love you for that. But you know this isn't on you, right? None of this - it's not your responsibility."

"I have to at least try."

She'd pressed her lips together and gotten that look she always got when she was worried about him, but she didn't argue. Jack was grateful for that, at least.

Still. He regrets things a little, now, because the look on Geoff's face earlier... and what Ryan said about Michael... he's starting to realise, with a sinking feeling, that the hurt runs a lot deeper than he'd expected. Nothing’s going according to plan. And there's a sick nervousness in his chest, and he can taste blood at the back of his mouth, and he knows, he wants too much from tonight. He's too invested. He doesn't know what will happen if this doesn't go the way he's hoping.

He looks at the clock again. His heart skips another beat.

_Nearly ten thirty._

_Idiot, you're running on borrowed time here. Get up. Get out there. Get going. Doesn't matter what_ you _want to do. You started this, you got the ball rolling, you can't back out now._

With a deep breath, he rises from the bed and forces himself back out the door, back into the heat and noise, the crisis.

 

* * *

 

"Ryan!" Jack cries.

He's walked smack-bang into the other man, sending both of them reeling backwards. The upstairs hallway, where the bedrooms and bathrooms are, is far quieter than it was earlier in the evening. Someone seems to have ordered some late-night pizzas and most people have congregated downstairs to devour them and watch the rather painful karaoke performance. Jack can hear the caterwauling from here, distant and dismally off-key.

Ryan turns to him. He was coming out of the bathroom, and Jack's eyes widen.

Ryan's eyes are red, his face flushed like he's been crying. It's one of the very few times that Jack's ever seen him emotional. Usually his face is as hard as stone, his guard always up. Always calm, always in control. Hell, the only time Jack's ever seen him cry, it was because he was pepper sprayed by a cop.

It knocks him off balance, makes him unsure what to do. And only sends another stab to his heart, because somehow, in all of this, Ryan was the one he was least concerned about. The one who'd always seemed so strong that nothing could phase him.

If there's one thing Jack hates, it's seeing his friends in pain.

"Are you okay?" he whispers.

"Fine," Ryan snaps, looking embarrassed. He rubs his hands across his face, but doesn't turn to leave yet. Just stands there, a bit awkwardly. He's got his jacket and scarf back on.

"I thought you were leaving," Jack says, a bit confused.

"I was," Ryan says. A cloud passes across his face. "I thought I had to get up early tomorrow. But not anymore. I've been cancelled on. So I suppose I may as well stick around. Might as well get hammered, right? The night's not getting any younger!"

There's something funnily stilted to his voice. He turns to go downstairs, but on impulse, Jack grabs his arm and yanks him back. The hall thrums with a burst of particularly enthusiastic electric guitar from downstairs. It feels too confined with just the two of them up here. In the red-tinged light from the lanterns Jack's roommates hung up, Ryan's face looks shadowed, gaunt.

"Talk to me," Jack hisses. "What's wrong?"

Ryan's jaw clenches, but Jack shakes his arm.

"We're friends, Ryan. Friends lean on each other."

"Friends," Ryan repeats, turning the word over in his mouth in a way that makes Jack shiver. "Really? After all that happened?"

"I don't hold any of that against you," Jack says, calmly. He means it, too. "You're not an ass, Ryan. You must've had a reason."

"Geoff would disagree."

"I'm not Geoff," Jack snaps. "I trust you have ACHIEVE - and our city's - best interests at heart, even if I didn't side with your methods. Look, I'm not leaving ACHIEVE. I invited you here tonight because I wanted to see you. Because you're important to me. Neither of us are going anywhere, so what's the point in fighting?"

Ryan's carefully looking at a point just to the left of his face. Something about that only makes Jack's heart ache harder, because of all of them, Ryan's the one he's never seen this vulnerable. He usually has the kind of effortless confidence that makes it easy to assume that everything just slides off his back. Even during the election he always just had a sort of iron look in his eyes, a hard set to his face. He radiated nothing but determination. As Geoff crumbled, he only seemed to grow stronger. At the time it had been impressive - infuriating - but now, Jack can see how tired he looks, and thinks, _this took a toll on him, too. On all of us._

_The three of us were close, once._ They'd run most of ACHIEVE together. He must have known doing this would change everything. Overhaul the entire hierarchy of ACHIEVE.

Ryan bites his lip. But Jack doesn't look up, just gazes at him steadily until finally Ryan's eyes flicker to meet his, then away again.

"That was my father on the phone." The words come out quick, pinched. "I was meant to meet him tomorrow at the airport. He's on his way back from a business trip to Singapore. But we had a... rather intense conversation just now."

"A fight," Jack clarifies, because honestly everything Ryan does pretty much falls under the category of 'intense,' and he doesn't doubt the other man's father is the same way.

"...yeah," Ryan admits. "He found out about the law firm I applied to intern at. He's... not happy that I'm not coming to do it with his firm. He offered and assumed I was going to accept. I may have put off telling him that I had other plans."

"Shit," Jack murmurs. He doesn't know much about Ryan's relationship with his father, but he's put together enough pieces to tell that it's not pretty. And it's clear from the look on Ryan's face that this has rattled him more than he wants to admit. "You think he'll cool off?"

Ryan's smile is tight, strained.

"I somehow doubt it."

"Your Mom can't win him over?"

A scoff.

"She won't want to try."

"I'm sorry, dude." Jack runs a hand down his arm, reaches out to try and comfort him - but Ryan turns away, face stony once more, arms wrapped around himself.

"It's fine," he snaps, "It's not like I'm not used to him being pissed off with me. That's just how we are. Besides, even if I did intern with him, it wouldn't matter. Nothing I ever do is fucking good enough for him, for anyone - so who fucking cares? Might as well just do whatever I want and fuck what anyone else thinks."

Jack bites his lip. He's heard Ryan furious before, but this is different from the hot indignation that always leaks into his voice when he's tackling some great injustice, or from the fierce way he defends his friends and allies. This is something terrible and raw and _hurt,_ and it almost scares him.

“Friends care,” he replies, softly. “They matter. It’s important to have people around us to guide us. Remember how you and Geoff and I used to work together?”

“Jack…” Ryan begins, pained.

“I’m serious! We made a good team. Because we balanced each other out. We’re never gonna get shit done if we just stick with Geoff’s way - but we can’t do everything your way either. You need a mix. And you guys, you’re always running hot. So you need me around to cool your tempers, too.”  
  
“That’s very poetic.” Ryan does not look impressed, and Jack falls silent. He feels flustered and embarrassed suddenly, the house too hot, the entire party too messy, too noisy. It’s not him at all. He’s surprised no one called him out on that. Usually his birthday is as low-key as it can get; just a date out with Caiti, or a movie night. Something super chill. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do here.”  
  
“What’s that, then?”  
  
“Mediate,” Ryan spits. “Try and get the two of us to work _together_. Well, it’s not gonna work. Geoff won’t _let it_. I’m not about to hand over the presidency. And as long as I’m in charge, he’ll never forgive me.”  
  
“Nothing’s ever that black and white,” Jack tries, but Ryan just shakes his head in exasperation.

“Actually, yeah. Some things are,” he grunts, and claps a hand on Jack’s shoulder as he starts to move past him, down the hall. “I appreciate it, Jack, I do. But you can’t fix this. Hell, you shouldn’t have to. It’s nothing to do with you. You’re welcome in the collective as long as you want to stay. I’d value having you by my side, but somehow I think Geoff might not like that much. Either way, it’s your choice.”  
  
Jack stares helplessly after him.

“Of course it’s to do with me,” he calls out, finally. “I love Geoff. Even if things didn’t work out between us, we’re _close_. You don’t - you don’t get over things like that. I know things about him that no one else in ACHIEVE does. And I’m telling you, you _can_ fix this.”  
  
Ryan’s stopped walking. He doesn’t turn, but Jack can tell he’s listening. He sees the other man’s shoulders heave, before Ryan finally blurts out:  
  
“Geoff was at Birch Bunker.”  
  
That was the last thing Jack expected, and he stares. Ryan turns towards him. He looks - desperate, suddenly, in a way that doesn’t suit him. Eyes red and almost pleading. 

“You knew,” he observes - Jack can only nod, silently. “Why didn’t he tell any of us? Was he ashamed? Surely he knew ACHIEVE, of all people, would never judge him. Did he not think it was _relevant_ -”  
  
“Of course he knew it was relevant,” Jack says. “I… how much did he tell you?”  
  
“The gist of it.”  
  
“It’s not that he was ashamed. God, have you seen Geoff? He wears his past like a badge of honour. Something that made him stronger.” He doesn’t add that he thinks, sometimes, that it’s not a particularly healthy way of dealing with the sort of shit he knows Geoff went through going up, because for as many conversations as he and Geoff have had about how they need to convince Gavin to get his ass in counseling, he’s spent just as much time trying to hint to Geoff that he should go, too.

“Then why?” Ryan demands.

“He just didn’t want to dredge it up again. Didn’t want to keep looking backwards. I think he thought telling you guys would make it all feel more real. But the speech he gave at the town hall - he talked about it there. If this had been any other campaign, I don’t think he’d’ve shot you down so hard, Ryan. I know that was… tough for you. But he couldn’t risk anything going wrong. Not on this.”  
  
Ryan looks down. Jack watches his face twist with emotion, and then watches him force it away. He stares hard, trying to figure out what he’s thinking, but it’s impossible.

“Anyway,” Jack manages, finally, when he can’t stand the silence any longer. “That’s not the only thing that’s made this such a mess. You and Gav…”  
  
At the mention of the other man’s name, Ryan’s head jerks up.

“What about us?” he snaps.  
  
“Did the two of you really…” he trails off when Ryan’s cheeks turn red. “Oh. Okay.”  
  
“Does that surprise you?” Ryan demands.

“Yes. No - kind of? I just - can’t picture it, I guess.”  
  
“I’d think I’d rather you don’t try!”

“Right. Sorry.” Jack’s the one who’s flustered now. But it’s true - he _can’t_ really picture it, because for as long as he’s known Gavin, the other man’s been so shy, so awkward and demure, that it’s hard to picture him as any sort of sexual being. Let alone with _Ryan_ , who’s got so much fucking presence that just standing next to him can be intimidating. It was only with Michael that Jack ever saw Gavin’s reservations properly slip away. The two of them had seemed an odd match at first, but Jack had quickly realised how well they balanced each other out. Maybe opposites really did attract.

_What about Ryan and Geoff, then?_ he thinks - there’d been a period of time when, for various reasons, he was quite certain they actually would get together. But apparently he’d _entirely_ misread that situation, because look at them now. Look at them fucking now.

Still. He can’t help his intense curiosity about what exactly went down between Ryan and Gav. All his information so far has come from nothing but rumour and gossip.

“So the two of you…” he prompts. “Are you…?”

“Nothing like _that_ ,” Ryan says, and looked away before adding, in a mutter, “It’s not Gavin I’m interested in.”  
  
“Wait, what does that mean?”  
  
“Nothing,” Ryan grunts, looking like he regretted saying anything. He turns to slip away again, and Jack bites his lip.

He knows he isn’t going to get anywhere right now. Not with this, not with Ryan so upset after his phone call, not just the two of them alone up here. But on impulse, he grabs Ryan’s arm and tugs him towards him, yanking him into a tight hug. Ryan makes a muffled noise of surprise, hands coming up as though to push Jack away, then hovering awkwardly over the other man’s shoulder blades, not quite touching him.

“Ryan,” Jack breathes, holding him close. “You know I’m still your friend, no matter what goes down with Geoff, right?”

Ryan lets out a slow breath, but doesn’t answer. Still - he doesn’t pull away, either, and Jack lets his eyes shut, squeezing him tightly.

Maybe this is for him as much as it is for Ryan. To know that they haven’t all lost each other, to feel just for a moment like he’s managing to hold everything together. 

“For me…” Jack continues, “Please, could you just… try a little harder? Geoff’s hurting as well. More than he shows sometimes.”

_And I’m hurting, too_. He doesn’t say it out loud, feels awkward suddenly. After all, he isn’t the one who was betrayed, or shut out, or broken up with. But still - he’s lonely, and sad, and finding this whole situation pretty fucking distressing, and he _misses_ the days when they were all on the same side.

Ryan stiffens in his arms. Jack steps back, slowly, and expects the other man to snap at him - but Ryan just rubs his hands over his face.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he whispers, and this time when he walks away, Jack doesn’t follow. Just watches the tense lines of his shoulders and back as he disappears downstairs.

_You really think you can fix this?_

_Or are you just interfering in something that none of them_ want _to fix? Are you just chasing a lost cause? Messing somewhere you don’t even belong?_  
  
They’re questions he can’t answer, and he stands there for a moment, aching, concerned about _everyone_. It feels suddenly like he’s carrying the weight of the entire group on his shoulders. He’s nothing but tired, tired.

 

* * *

 

Downstairs, the party seems to be in full swing. Even as the night wears on, it seems people have, by now, reached that particular level of drunk where they've lost all conception of time and are letting all inhibitions go. Some particularly wild dancing is happening in one corner of the room, while a cluster of others are gathered around the table where the pizza has been set out.

As Jack passes through the room people thump and pat him on the shoulders; he forces smiles for each of them as he heads by.

"Happy birthday, man!"

"Hey, I'm headed out soon."

"Are there any more drinks in the kitchen?"

"I think your TV remote's missing-"

"Hey have you got any tissues? Someone spilled a lot of drinks-"

"Yo, someone clogged the upstairs toilet! You got a plunger?"

_Fuck,_ Jack thinks, through gritted teeth - this is exactly the reason he hates big parties. He manages to nod and smile his way across the room before grabbing some pizza and a drink and managing to grab a seat in the corner. He just needs a moment to get his bearings before dealing with the rest of this shit.

_Alright. Where is everyone? What am I working with here?_

He sees Ryan, brooding in the corner, a beer in hand - okay, so he's still here, then. Makes note of the scowl on his face, his hunched shoulders, but also the fact that he at least isn't getting hammered with the group of rowdy kids taking shots over at the breakfast bar. 

Michael saunters past, arm-in-arm with Jeremy. Both of them look pensive, but they're sticking close together, practically glued to each other's sides. Jack can't help but frown, his heart clenching a little.

_What're you doing, Little J? Seriously - you know better. Don't get yourself mixed up in that shit._

Honestly, he doesn't quite know what to make of this. He'd only found out very recently that the other two were... well, honestly, he doesn't really understand what they are. Together? Maybe. Definitely _sleeping_ together, at least.

There's a lot he apparently doesn't know. This shit with Jeremy and Michael all happened so fast that he doesn't really understand it - if Jeremy's playing some sort of angle here, or if he's actually clueless about how fucking hung up Gavin still is on Michael, or if he's just somehow ended up in over his head like the rest of them.

Still. It's now one other factor he's gotta fucking deal with as he tries to sort this all out.

_You need to figure it out. Untangle the pieces_. Unconsciously, his fingers run over the tattoo on the inside of his wrist, the tetris pieces that he got done last year. Geoff's got some friend who runs a shop; she did all his for free as practice back when she was a trainee. It's nice ink, and the metaphor is way too apt right now. Get all the pieces in the right place and it all just - goes away.

He shakes himself.

_Where's Geoff? Outside somewhere,_ he thinks. He'll have to be careful about this, have to orchestrate things somehow to get him back near Ryan. Maybe find something they can both help him with.

_The clogged toilet,_ he thinks, uncharitably. _The amount of trouble they've caused me, they might as well make themselves useful._

_And Gavin?_

Home, apparently. It's a shame he bailed so early - that wasn't part of Jack's plan at all, but honestly, the poor kid looked exhausted, and Jack can hardly begrudge him wanting to get the hell out of here. And he's almost glad that he's off getting some rest. He really did look like shit, like every last drop had been wrung out of him.

And that's why Jack's doing this. Because he knows, deep in his heart, that this isn't gonna get better on its own. This isn't the sort of thing that just... fixes itself with time, no.

The longer they leave this, the worst it'll be.

They need someone to unravel everything before they can begin building it back up.

"Jack?"

A hand taps his elbow, and Jack turns, curious - but freezes at the dark eyes that meet his.

"...Ray? The fuck?"

Ray shuffles his feet, nervously. He's sidled up from a dark corner of the room and now stands, shoulders hunched, hands thrust low in his pockets, folding in on himself like he doesn't want to be seen.

Jack is flabbergasted. He slowly sets his cup and plate down and turns to face Ray properly.

"What... what're you doing here?" he manages finally. 

God, it's been over a year since he saw the other man - or even heard his name. Even then, they hadn't known each other too well. Just through Michael.

Ray looks tired, although 'just rolled out of bed' is his default aesthetic in general. He's grown a beard since Jack last saw him, and it makes him look older. As always, a lingering smell of weed seems to hang around him. 

"Sorry," Ray murmurs. "I know I wasn't invited, but-"

"Damn right you weren't invited!"

Now that the shock's wearing off, a sort of dawning horror is sinking in. Jack's heart is pounding, a churning, heavy dread begins to rise in his stomach. He feels a bit spacey suddenly, then again it might be the contact high from the fucking cloud of pot that seems to linger constantly around Ray.

_No. He can't be here. It will all go wrong. He can't be here - he's not supposed to be here - this isn't what I planned!_

It hits him with an anxious shock; just how horribly fucking wrong everything is about to go, how quickly this one boy's presence could make everything fall apart. If Michael sees him...

He grabs Ray's arm, propels him roughly towards the door, glancing around, paranoid someone will see.

"You have to leave!" he hisses.

"Jack, wait!" Ray grabs his wrist and tries to pull his arm away, stumbling as Jack drags him towards the door. "Just let me talk-"

"You can't be here." There's a screen cordoning off one of the armchairs; Jack hauls him behind it, turns to face him with a scowl. "How the fuck did you even know about this party?"

"Saw pics on Barb's facebook." Ray's staring up at him now. Eyes huge. Helpless. A little lost. God help him, but Jack's too soft for his own good. The desperation in his face makes him pause, listen just for a moment. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I just - need to talk to Michael."

Jack stares at him. Then heaves a sigh, rubs his hands over his face. He can feel a throbbing headache starting up behind his eyes.

"Jesus, Ray. Your mere _presence_ here is trouble. _You're_ trouble. I might not know the full story, but I know that you and Michael didn't end prettily."

Ray's face twists.

"That's one way of putting it," he mutters, guiltily.

"Why dredge it up after a year? Why now, at the worst fucking possible time? How long's it even been since you last talked to him?"

"Not as long as you think," Ray murmurs, so quietly Jack's not even sure if he was meant to hear it. Still - the words make him pause. Another piece of the puzzle.

"Look, Ray..." he softens a little, tries not to let too much of his frustration show. "I don't know how much you heard about what's been going on around here recently... although it was pretty hard to miss, it was all over UAC-"

"I dropped out six months ago," Ray says.

Jack flounders for a moment, caught off guard. Ray's always been hard to read, and it's even harder when Jack barely knows him.

"I - oh. Okay. Sorry to hear that."

Ray shrugs.

"It was kind of inevitable, to be honest," he says, so deadpan that Jack is left to bite his lip nervously, unsure exactly where this conversation is going, how much of a toehold he even has here.

"Well, there was a lot of shit with ACHIEVE. Not just Michael, although he was involved. But with Gav, and Geoff, and Ryan, and just - we're all caught up in it, all of us, and it's fucking messy and tonight... tonight I think it might be my last chance to fix it before it all gets even worse. So you're just... you're kind of a spanner in the works right now."

Ray gives him a long, intense look, and suddenly Jack finds it hard to meet his eyes. He couldn't explain why if he tried. After all, he has the moral high ground here. But suddenly he just feel a bit awkward, a bit judged and scrutinised under Ray's dark gaze.

Finally Ray tilts his head.

"I just need a minute," he insists, quietly. "I... I think it might even help if I could talk to Michael. To Gavin, too-"

"You don't even fucking know Gavin!" Jack explodes, frustrated, "You've never met him in your fucking life!"

"Well, maybe it's time."

"Not tonight," Jack says, furiously. "Everything's already so fucked up. I don't need you making it worse. And from everything I've heard, Ray, that's all you seem to fucking do. Look, you... you're not in ACHIEVE. You don't get what a huge fucking mess this entire thing is. Just - trust me that tonight's not a good idea. I'll tell Michael later you were here, if you want!"

Ray flinches back, and Jack takes a deep breath.

Guilt instantly stabs at his gut. He didn't mean for it to come out so harshly, but things already haven't been going according to plan, and he just - he can't deal with any more of this. 

"I'm sorry," he manages, "But you - you just can't be here. You need to leave."

Ray gives a curt nod. He turns and starts to walk away, but turns at the screen and looks back at Jack over his shoulder, that same speculative look on his face.

"You know," he says, voice flat, "Maybe it's not your job to fix things. After all, from the whispers I've heard tonight, it doesn't sound like you're tangled up in any of it at all. Sometimes other people make their own choices. Sometimes they gotta deal with their shit themselves."

Jack stares at him, a startled, embarrassed hurt in his gut.

"Fuck off, Ray," is all he can manage. "We barely even know each other."

"Just saying," Ray mutters, and leaves. 

Jack stands, staring after him, breathing heavily. He clenches his fists and realises his palms are sweating. Wipes them desperately on the sides of his pants. His headache's coming on with full force, now, and he grinds his knuckles against his eyes for a moment.

_What the hell was that supposed to mean? Some hint to mind my own business? In my own fucking_ house?

_Ignore him._

_He doesn't know shit. He hasn't even been here for the past year. Even before then he never cared about ACHIEVE. How could he ever understand that this hurts you, too?_

Still. He doesn't like it - Ray suddenly showing up like this. Why would he need to speak to Michael now?

Something happened. Something that Jack doesn't know about - something he needs to know about, if he's gonna figure out how to approach this. He takes a deep breath. His appetite's gone now. There's a lot of work to do, and he glances at his watch and swears.

_Nearly eleven._

_Time's running out. Quickly, figure this out. You need to start retracing their steps. Then you can figure out what direction to send them._

 

* * *

 

At the start of tonight Jack was like, of course I'm gonna stay sober. How can I be a Machiavellian mastermind if I'm drunk?

Well, that was all very well and good, until Gavin left the party, and Geoff and Ryan started fighting, and someone knocked over the lamp that his grandmother had given him last Christmas and then spilled nacho sauce all over his rug. He'd started knocking them back after that and now, he's like - not drunk, but definitely not quite as sober as he'd like.

It's making it hard to focus enough to figure out exactly what his next move has to be, and he finds himself lumbering through the party, vaguely trying to find Michael. They haven't had much of a chance to talk yet. He's probably the best one to approach next - if Jack can figure out where his head's at, he'll be able to start putting pieces in place.

Michael seems to have vanished into the ether, but as Jack goes room to room he manages to find other clues. 

Jon's sitting outside, sweeping up people's rubbish and empty cups. Jack could kiss him.

"Hey!" he calls out, as Jack passes by, "Ray went by here earlier."

"Yeah, he dropped by," Jack replies, and pauses. Jon and Ray were close, once, he knows - even though Ray never joined ACHIEVE, he was friends with a few people in it after meeting them through Michael. "I hadn't seen him in years, had you?"

Jon looks a bit startled. He sided with Geoff, Jack knows; they've been close these last few weeks, but the two of them have never really been the kind to talk about personal stuff. A funny, furtive look flashes across Jon's face. It's quickly hidden, and only makes Jack's frown deepen.

Jesus, what now?

"I... yeah, I did, actually," Jon admits.

"I know you two were friends," Jack prompts, with a gentle smile.

"We were." Jon shifts, bending to pick up another discarded red cup. "We got on really well. We still played games together even after he and Michael broke up. And when he dropped out of uni we'd make time to hang out now and then. But I hadn't seen him for a while. Then, a couple months ago..."

"What happened?" Jack prompts. His heart's pounding. A couple of months? That was right before the election.

That was right when Michael and Gav broke up.

"He... he asked me to meet up. Asked how Michael was. Said he might try and catch up with a bunch of you guys. I didn't think he'd actually go through with it. Ray does that a lot." Jon's lips twist, almost sadly. "He talks a big talk but then does fuck all to follow through on things. It's why he dropped out - but that's not my story to tell. I mean that in a nice way, he's a great guy. Just super unmotivated sometimes. But he's doing alright for himself. I actually think dropping out was the best thing he could've done at the time."

Jack nods, but he's barely listening to the rest of it. Something's niggling at him.

"Did he say why he wanted to talk to Michael?"

"No. I didn't push. Not my business."

"He knew he was dating Gavin then, though, right?"

"Of course. I know they kept it discreet, nothing on facebook or anything - but word travels. I think Barbara might've told him." Jon shifts, clearly feeling a bit awkward. "Look, I don't want to gossip or anything-"

"It's fine," Jack assures him, "I didn't mean to pry. I was just curious. We were never close."

Jon nods, turning away with a smile. Jack heads back inside, mind racing. 

He doesn't know what Ray wanted to say to Michael tonight. But he's certain the two of them did meet after he talked to Jon. And he has a heavy gut feeling that somehow it has something to do with why Michael and Gavin broke up, too, because that was something Jack hadn't seen coming, and he doesn't see why it would happen without some sort of outside factor.

Ray getting involved back in Michael's life? Yeah, that'd do it.

_Maybe this is more than you can handle,_ he thinks nervously - but shakes himself. _You have to at least try._

Try, even if right now he isn't quite sure what he's gotten himself mixed up in. At the back of his mind is a quiet dread - surely, surely, they didn't get back together, surely Michael wouldn't _cheat_ \- he's not the sort. He can't be. He's Jack's friend, and Jack trusts him, and he honestly doesn't think it was that-

But something happened.

Something happened, and he has to find out what.

His next clue comes when he sees Ryan and Alfredo sitting on the couch together, talking quietly. The sight makes him smile - he's glad to see Ryan looking fairly relaxed, nursing a cup of coffee and a plate of pizza now, Alfredo telling him something with a lot of enthusiastic hand gestures and a bigass grin on his face.

If there's one person at this party who can probably put everyone at ease, it's fucking Fredo. Not only is he entirely uninvolved in the ACHIEVE drama, but he seems to have the magical ability to lighten the mood anywhere he goes, and Jack didn't realise until now quite how relieved he is to have the other man here.

He remembers, suddenly, that Ryan knows what went down between Michael and Gavin. And although he's quite sure the other man won't tell him what happened - he's not the sort to betray anyone's confidence - he might still be able to get at least some understanding of the situation.

"Glad you're both sticking around," he says, sitting on the couch opposite them. "Who ordered the pizza? That was a good idea."

"Some of your med friends," Alfredo replies, happily. "I think they were getting a bit sick of everyone just getting hammered!"

"Well, it's revived the party a bit." He invited so many people precisely so that things would stay exciting; if things start flagging, people might start going home, and then he'll lose his chance. With Gavin already out of the picture things are already not quite on track. "Hey, can I ask you guys something?"

"Of course!" Alfredo says, nodding enthusiastically.

Ryan's eyes flick to meet his, then look away again. He seems to have mostly recovered from earlier, but there's still something suspicious in his gaze. Still - Jack barrels on.

"Gavin was hanging out with Barb earlier, right, Fredo? Did he come find you guys before he left?"

Ryan's spine stiffens at the mention of the other man's name. Alfredo obliviously shakes his head.

"No! He was gonna, but then he got tired and went home."

"He texted you he was leaving?"

"Yeah." Alfredo waves his phone. "He seemed fine, though. Barb said he was wiped. Something about honours?"

"He just seemed upset earlier," Jack begins, and Ryan sits upright, teeth clenched.

"Why are you pushing this?" he growls. "I told you already. He's upset because he saw Michael."

"I'm just trying to make sure he's okay," Jack says, quietly - Alfredo reaches out and squeezes Ryan's shoulder; he settles, grudgingly. "I'm not the bad guy here, Ryan."

"Yeah? Who is?" Ryan snaps.

"No one," Jack says, heart pounding. Alfredo's staring between the two of them with wide eyes, like they're two dogs about to get into a scrap. Ryan's testy, testier than Jack wanted. He's clearly reached the level of tipsy where he's spoiling for a fight. "But he's my friend and I just want to make sure he's okay. Did he say anything about what's going on with him and Michael, Alfredo?"

"Why are you _pushing_ this?" Ryan repeats, and Jack meets his eyes.

"Because Ray was here ten minutes ago and I kicked him out," he says, and sees Ryan's eyes widen.

Shock, concern, then a funny, furtive look all flicker across his face. He knows what happened. It only serves to confirm Jack's suspicions that somehow Ray was mixed up in all this.

"What the hell was he doing here?" Ryan says.

"Ummm," Alfredo pipes up, awkwardly.

"He wanted to talk to Michael. I told him he had to leave before he made things worse. Is he the reason they broke up? You said Michael did something," Jack begins, and Ryan's eyes dart to Alfredo. Jack suddenly remembers they have an audience, and he blinks a bit guiltily.

He wants to get to the bottom of this. He doesn't want to increase the level of gossip and drama in the group more than it already has been.

But Alfredo's just chewing his lip thoughtfully.

"Wait, is Ray the reason they broke up? I thought it was the other stuff."

"What other stuff?" Jack and Ryan both ask in unison.

"I don't know the details!" Alfredo says, raising his hands quickly, "But I think something happened with his family? Barbara mentioned he really, really didn't want to go back for Christmas this year and that something bad had happened and since it was right around the time he and Michael ended things, I figured it had made things, like, emotionally tense or something. That's why I always figured they might get back together."

Jack and Ryan exchange a wide-eyed glance.

"Did you know about that part of things?" Jack asks, and Ryan shakes his head.

"No, but... it makes sense. Look, I don't want to talk about Gav's personal business," he grunts. "Suffice to say he had a lot going on. Michael only made things worse."

_And Ray?_ Jack thinks - but he's pushed his luck far enough. He can already tell Alfredo's gonna go and tell Barb that Ray was here, and then Trevor will find out, and that means half of ACHIEVE will too. He's got enough to keep digging.

"Right," he murmurs. "Thanks, guys."

He rises and starts to leave, but Ryan catches his wrist.

"I don't know what you think you're doing," he whispers, "But the best thing for Gavin is to let him get over this in peace. He needs space. Distance. Not someone sticking their fingers into his past and trying to push him and Michael back together."

A guilty flush makes Jack's cheeks heat.

"I don't think the best thing for Gavin was making him turn on Geoff so that he'd lose half his support system," he hisses, and Ryan flinches and lets go.

It's a low, petty blow, and Jack's embarrassed as soon as he says it. Still. He walks away quickly, heart pounding. Things are becoming clear, slowly. Soon he'll have the whole picture. Soon he'll know how to fix this.

His next victim walks right across his path; Jeremy, swaying his way to the bathroom. Jack catches him by the shoulders when they nearly bump into each other.

"Lil J! You alright?"

"Just drunk," Jeremy assures him, patting Jack on the chest and looking up at him with a red-faced grin. At least someone's happy to see him. "And I really gotta piss."

Jack claps him on the shoulder, sends him on his way. Then stands outside the bathroom waiting for him to come out. Look, it's not creepy, he's allowed. Firstly, this is his house. Secondly, it's all for a good cause.

Jeremy runs the water for a long time. When he emerges he looks vaguely more alive, and jumps a bit at the sight of Jack leaning across the wall.

"Hey," he says, cautiously.

"Hey," Jack replies. Things are quieter upstairs, and in the dim light it all feels more private. With Jeremy, he cuts to the chase. "I wanted to talk to you, actually."

Jeremy nods. He looks resigned, and for a moment Jack softens. Jeremy's honestly been on their side through all this - not that Jack approves of the side-taking in the first place - he's been a great support for Geoff this entire, disastrous semester. A shoulder to lean on, a gentle voice of reason when things started getting upsetting, and the one who organised half their campaign.

"Everything okay?" Jeremy asks.

"Not really." Jack sinks down to sit on the floor, back to the wall - after a moment, Jeremy sits next to him. "But I think you know that."

"Yeah." Jeremy's lips twist; there's a moment of exhausted silence.

"You know why I'm doing this, right?" Jack asks. "This whole party. Why I invited everyone even though they're at each other’s throats."

"I pretty much have the idea," Jeremy admits. "But Jack... I don't think this is going to work out the way you want it to."

"If we don't at least try, then after tonight that's it. Our friendship group - dissolved. ACHIEVE - in ruins. And Gavin and Geoff... they're not okay. Hell, I don't think any of us are okay."

Jeremy bites his lip, looks away. After a moment, Jack nudges his shoulder against his.

"Why did Michael and Gavin break up?" he whispers. "You've gotten close to Michael lately. You must know."

"I feel bad spreading it around," Jeremy says, and Jack's jaw clenches.

"Jeremy..."

"Look, I know you mean well. Hell, Jack, I trust you more than anyone. But it's - personal. It's really, really _personal_. And that's why I don't think you can fix this. It runs too deep - it's not just some petty argument or lover's quarrel. It's not just politics."

"But Michael told you," Jack prompts, and Jeremy's lips twist. "Was it his fault? Ryan seems to think it's unforgivable."

That's enough to make Jeremy's head snap up, a frown flickering across his features.

"I'll tell you this much," he says, quietly. "Yeah, Michael fucked up, but Gavin seriously overreacted. They could have worked things out if they wanted to."

"Then why's Gav so torn up about it?"

"He feels wronged. But Michael never deliberately tried to hurt him. Gavin refused to even listen to what he had to say - I don't know why." Jeremy's face is hard, defensive. "Look, I like Gav. And I know he's had a rough time of things. But this all hurt Michael, too. He's not the bad guy here, Jack. But things aren't clear-cut and I don't think they can so easily be fixed."

"Have the two of them even talked since this all went down?"

"No. Gavin didn't want to. Then everything happened with ACHIEVE and there was just no time."

"They should talk," Jack says, and Jeremy reaches out and squeezes his arm.

"Jack... you're a good man. You mean well. But this is between the two of them, not you."

"And you?" Jack can't help prompting. Jeremy flinches, his hand falling away. "What's going on with you and Michael? Yeah, Jeremy, I noticed. You've been glued to each others' sides all night - it was kinda hard not to."

"It's... complicated."

"Do you like him?" Jack prompts, and Jeremy gives an embarrassed sort of scoff, his cheeks flaring red.

"What is this, middle school? Of course I like him, Jack, we're friends. Michael was the first person I got close to in ACHIEVE. And when shit went south he turned to me. But we're not together. We won't ever be."

Jack really does not know what to make of this.

"Why would you get yourself stuck in the middle of all this?" he demands, and Jeremy looks down, his hands twisting together in his lap.

"Because he's my friend," he said, "And he was alone, and he needed someone."

"That's all it is?"

"That's all it is," Jeremy confirms, and looks up at him, eyes blazing and resolute, and Jack knows he means it. Problem is, he has no idea if Michael knows that. Or Gavin. He closes his eyes, lets his head thud back against the wall, lets himself feel, for a moment, the exhaustion snaking its way down every limb.

"Jack?" Jeremy prompts.

"Sorry, Lil J," Jack says, without opening his eyes. "I'm just - tired."

"This isn't on you." Jeremy squeezes his knee, but Jack opens his eyes.

"Yeah. It is."

"It really isn't-"

"It _is,_ Jeremy." Jack stares at him, intense, and after a second the words explode out of him. He's too tired, too drunk to hold them in. "I'm just - I'm exhausted. I'm fucking exhausted and it's not just from today. It's from the entire last three months. It's from being the shoulder to lean on for everybody - Geoff most of all, but not just him. It's from being the one person who has to fucking uphold everyone's friendship in the group. Has to make sure Ryan doesn't think I'm pissed at him. Has to make sure Gavin doesn't feel like he's lost everyone!”

He pauses, sucks in a trembling breath.

“And I'm happy to do it, I want us to all be friends, but God if I don't sometimes wish I could just fuck off like Michael did. Fuck off and leave you all to fall apart. Or be like Geoff and just - lash out at you all, tell you what I really think, stop playing nice. Or be like Ryan and do whatever the hell I want without caring who gets hurt. But no - I'm the one who holds everyone together. I'm the one who makes sure we're all still friends at the end of the day. I'm the one who stays up past midnight letting people rant to them - the shoulder to cry on - the peacemaker. I'm just _tired,_ Jeremy. I'm just fucking tired."

Jeremy's staring at him, eyes huge. Scared. Jack can't blame him; he never gets like this. He barely ever even raises his voice. But now his throat is raw and after a moment he swipes the back of his hand across his burning eyes.

"And I know no one asked me to do it,” he whispers, “But how can I _not_ , when I love you all? When I just - want us to be friends again? When I know if someone just _tries_ that we can fix this - when I know that no one else is going to?”  
  
“Jack…” Jeremy whispers, and squeezes his knee. He clearly doesn’t know what to say, and Jack takes a shaky breath, rubs his hands over his face.

“So yeah, this is my business,” he says, “Because it’s hurting me, too. Because we’re all sick of this. Because we all put our hearts and souls into ACHIEVE and we don’t deserve to have things fall apart like this. So I’m gonna keep fixing things, Jeremy, I’m gonna at least _try_.”  
  
Jeremy nods. There’s no judgement on his face, just a calm acceptance, and that more than anything makes Jack slump with relief. That he agrees. That he _understands_.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

“But it has to be tonight. Next week Ryan takes over ACHIEVE and I think it’ll be too late. And I don’t think I’ll have any other excuse to get everyone in the same room. So it has to be now - but we’re running out of time and I’m just-”  
  
_Tired._ He’s said it so many times now that it’s started to lose meaning, but how can he explain to Jeremy the bone-deep lethargy that makes it hard to get out of bed in the morning? How can he make him understand that it’s not just physical exhaustion but emotional, too - that everyone he interacts with _expects_ something from him. Reassurance, support, peacekeeping.

But Jeremy just reaches out, rubs his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he says, “We’ll do it together. I’ll help.”  
  
And for the first time in a lot of this, Jack doesn’t feel like he’s standing alone.

 

* * *

 

Thinking back on things, Jack's childhood was fine.

No, really. Compared to just about everyone else in his friendship group, he really can't complain. He has the typical suburban upbringing; white picket fence, two bedroom house, neighbours who come over to borrow a cup of sugar. His dad plays catch with him in the backyard, and his mum bakes him birthday cakes with blue icing, and his grandparents come to watch every football game, chess tournament, debating match.

And thinking back on it - he knows exactly where he gets all of his caretaker tendencies from. 

His parents are decent, hardworking American folks. _Decent_ , that's literally the word people always use to describe them, and Jack can't help but think it fits perfectly. The sort of people who'll stick their neck out for others, who'll be kind even if it costs them, who'll help and expect nothing in return.

His mother is a nurse, and even if she sometimes has weird shifts that mean she's out all night and Jack has to pack his own lunch in the morning and lock up the house when he leaves for school, she never once leaves for work without giving him a kiss goodbye on the forehead. She teaches him to sew neat rows of stitches, to count someone's heart rate, how to soothe someone out of a panic attack. At night they sit together over coffee and he listens, rapt, to her stories about her day at work.

His father is a mechanic, and Jack has fond memories of spending long summer afternoons in the garage with him, smeared with grease and oil to the elbows, repairing old cars. No matter how busted up they are, no matter how impossible it seems - he's seen his father work miracles, transform the most decrepit piece of junk into something that looks brand new.

"There's nothing you can't patch up if you put your mind to it," he always says, and Jack takes the words to heart.

He doesn't throw anything out if he can help it. He takes art at school and his final major work project is a series of sculpture pieces made from scrap he got from the junkyard on the edge of town - spiralling pieces of wire forming the shape of cats, apocalyptic landscapes formed from rusting metal and spare parts, a series of coral reefs made from discarded plastic straws. 

And he fixes other things, too, or tries to. He spends every afternoon for a year tutoring his best friend in maths after school until he gets the results he needs to apply for a scholarship. He's the peacemaker for countless group dramas. He's part of blood drives, fundraisers, on the organising committee for school events. Becomes known as the person to go to if you need a problem solved. He's on the student council every single year of school and president of the student body when he reaches his senior year.

Things get tough in his last couple years of high school. His parents have always been the ideal relationship to him - high school sweethearts who got married young, they proved everyone around them wrong by making something of themselves. The right investments made them comfortably wealthy, they raised Jack right and they always seemed to be the most romantic people he'd ever seen.

But somewhere along the line, a darkness creeps in. A shift that's so subtle it takes him a while to notice, and when he does, it's too late. His father doesn't kiss his mother when she comes home from work any more. She doesn't come up behind him when he's cooking and wrap her arms around his waist like she used to. 

There are more strained, awkward silences. More nights when one or the other of them falls asleep on the couch instead of going to bed. More times than Jack can count when he comes downstairs to find them in the middle of a hushed argument that they stop just too late to hide it from him.

He's sixteen and doesn't know what to do. He knows what's coming. It's happened to about half his friends, for various reasons.

_She drinks too much-_

_He cheated on me-_

_We fight all the time-_

_The spark just isn't there any more-_

_We've grown apart-_

_Sometimes things just happen._

But his father's mantra still rings through his head. _There's nothing you can't patch up if you put your mind to it._

And hasn't he done it enough times?

He's no idiot. He schemes subtly. He trots out photo albums and asks his parents to tell him stories as they look back on childhood photographs, at their old school prom pictures, at wedding and honeymoon memories. Makes them remember the good times. He organises family outings to the beach, to hiking trails, to dance studios, and slips away to give them alone time. He plays their favourite couples songs in the car and leaves them vouchers - pretending he won them for free - to couples' spa days, to salsa classes, to cheese and wine tastings.

He's a regular cupid. He watches as the tension eases, as slowly they begin to smile again, as they stop fighting so much. And he thinks, _it's true, you really can fix anything_. And he thinks, _someone had to do something. It's lucky I was here._

He always thinks his parents were oblivious to his scheming, but one night, shortly after he graduates, his father's looking through the photo albums in the kitchen and pulls him aside and asks him about it. Jack's guilty silence is all the answer he needs, and he'll never forget the look on his dad's face. A strained, complex emotion - relief, sadness, pride, guilt.

"You know, you didn't have to do that," he says, his hand heavy on Jack's shoulder. "It wasn't your problem. It wasn't your burden to carry. It was us."

"You're my parents," Jack whispers.

"You were sixteen. It's not on you."

"It worked, didn't it?" Jack asks. "You love her. She loves you. You just needed someone to help remind you."

As though it's as simple as that. But his father pulls him into a tight hug, hand curling into the hair on the back of his head, and Jack can feel his unsteady breathing and the pounding of his heart, and he can't quite understand why his Dad is upset. Can't quite fathom what he means, because - of course it was his job. He saw there was a problem, and he fixed it.

And that's what his Mum does, and that's what his Dad does, every day they go to work - why shouldn't he? All he wants to do is help people. It's what makes him feel steady, grounded, as though he has a sense of purpose. And later - as he grows older, as he heads off to college - that's what he remembers. That warm, steady, relieved feeling that he had when he realised that everything was going to be okay after all.

(What he doesn't remember are the sleepless nights, the way he'd cry in the shower where neither of them could hear him, the constant niggling anxiety and the times his own chest would seize up with the fear that maybe this wouldn't go away, maybe he would fail, maybe his whole world would come crashing down-)

 

* * *

 

Geoff and Jack's relationship is doomed from the start.

Don't get Jack wrong - he loves ACHIEVE, and he loves the other man, and he never anticipated when he started college that he'd fall in so quickly with such a perfect fucking group. Like literally - he'd been vaguely anxious about moving out of home and into such a new environment, but ACHIEVE feels like home instantly, and he couldn't ask for a better circle of like-minded new friends.

But with Geoff, there's still that instant desire to try and _fix_ him. Because the other man's just - a train wreck of a human being. He's smart and capable and confident, but damaged in a way that Jack can see deep in his eyes, when he thinks no one's looking. He makes weird, bad, reckless decisions, and doesn't take good enough care of himself, and Jack just - wants to help him, the same way he wants to help everyone.

There's always an imbalance there, and later when he looks back at things, he can diagnose exactly where it went wrong. Because he's always there for Geoff - when Burnie leaves, and when he takes over ACHIEVE, and through the various trials and tribulations of uni life. He's there when Geoff gets sad or exhausted or anxious. He's there to listen to him vent about his mother, or when he's getting sober, or when some new social issue has him riled up.

But he's always very careful not to put the same burden on Geoff. Even when he's stressed over his med exams, or one of their campaigns hits too close to home. When his mum has a cancer scare, when his dad's business starts to struggle.

It's not that he doesn't trust Geoff. He just - doesn't want him to hurt.

Maybe it's unhealthy. Maybe it's a double standard. It's not Geoff's fault, either, it's not like he's oblivious. Jack just... won't let him in. He isn't sure why. It just doesn't come easy, to make someone else have to deal with his problems. He just wants his friends to be okay.

The night they break up, they don't really need to speak much. Things have felt off for a long time - the conversation not flowing as easily, things not seeming to fit in the right places. They sit together on the shitty couch in Geoff's room that he picked up off the curb when someone else was throwing it out, a couch covered in food stains with the springs gone, a couch they've sat on a hundred times before to plan campaigns. Their knees are touching, and it's comforting, but it doesn't give Jack the same sort of intimate thrill that it once did.

"I care about you a lot," he whispers finally, and Geoff leans over and rests his head on Jack's shoulder, a warm, easy weight.

"I know you do. You care about everyone," he says, and Jack can't help his smile. "I mean it, Jack. You're the best person I know. Your fucking existence gives me hope that the world's not entirely shit. And you deserve the world. I just want you to be happy."

"I want you to be happy, too," Jack says, and Geoff hugs him tight.

"I was. Very, very happy."

But they both know this is for the best, and Jack wraps his arms around him, gives him one last kiss on the temple. It's a tearful night, but miraculously things aren't that awkward. They've always been better friends than they have lovers, and the relationship's a learning experience for both of them, and things settle back to normal pretty quickly.

 

* * *

 

In what Jack will later come to think of as the golden years of ACHIEVE - right after Gavin joins, when things are going swimmingly and a lot of their campaigns are successful and everyone's working together like a well-oiled machine - he spends a lot of time with Geoff and Ryan.

The three of them have risen to become pretty much the main leaders of ACHIEVE - president, vice-president and treasurer - and Jack can't imagine doing this with anyone else.

Ryan's a funny one. Jack's got a keen eye for people who need help, and as stoic as Ryan is, he catches immediately onto the way the other man's funny, stilted demeanour and reserved nature is hiding something else. Some deeper anxiety, a fear of reaching out, of getting help.

But the thing is, for all his rough edges and rather bloodthirsty means of pursuing what he wants... Jack likes Ryan.

He's super fucking intelligent. He's strong, and fierce, and not afraid to speak his mind. He's deeply, deeply passionate about the cause.

When he's on their side, he's their greatest asset. Problem is, when he isn't, he's their biggest problem.

But in those Golden Years... he sees beneath the surface a little, and he likes to think that Ryan sees beneath his, too. That they connect. That they become close friends. He sees the lines of exhaustion under Ryan's eyes when his law school workload starts stacking up and he struggles to juggle that along with his responsibilities to ACHIEVE.

And when he does, he brings Ryan cups of tea or takes him out for coffee - takes on some of his work or offers to drive him places.

Ryan does the same for him. When Jack's exams are coming up the other man drops food off at his place, or offers to come by and water his plants, or do a load of laundry, or drags him to the library to get him out of his house.

They take care of each other. Easily. Wordlessly. It works better like that, Jack thinks - Ryan's never been one to tell his feelings out loud.

And Geoff and Ryan...

They're a match made in heaven, or maybe hell. Jack's had to pull them from each other's throats dozens of times, but there's never any malice in it. He can tell they're good for each other, in some twisted way - that being forced to defend their points of view to one another is actually making them stronger.

And he's not blind, you know. He's seen the way Geoff looks at Ryan when he's not looking - with a grudging awe and a sort of heated, dazzled gaze. The only other person Jack's seen him give that look to is Burnie. As for Ryan... he's harder to figure out, but Jack's noticed that he actually does respect Geoff's perspective more often than not, that he'll go away and read up on whatever new idea is presented to him. And when Geoff's not around he usually defends the other man to any one who dares question him.

They have each other's backs, even if they refuse to admit it. And there's a heat between them, something that was never there with Jack and Geoff. He's not jealous. It's just - plain to see. There's a spark. The two of them can get lost for hours in debates or philosophical conversations, seem to forget there's even anyone else in the room with them.

It's rare you find that sort of connection with someone. Jack half-thinks it'd be good for them. But he doesn't dare push things, just in case he's somehow badly misjudged, and nothing ever seems to really come of it.

 

* * *

 

Jack will always remember the day things started to fall apart.

It's been a motherfuck of a month. Geoff's only just returned to AC after being out of town for a fortnight dealing with his mother's death, and Jack's worn to the bone from supporting him. He offered to go to the funeral, but Geoff insisted he was fine; still, Jack's been up past two am every night just talking to him about it. Helping him work through his grief. He's fucking exhausted and he knows Caiti's worried about him, but Geoff's his best friend, and the loss is still a raw wound. Of course Jack's gonna be there for him.

Not only that. It's been two weeks since he found out that Gavin and Michael broke up over the holidays - since Michael messaged them all that he was dropping out of ACHIEVE. It was one punch after another, and honestly Jack's still reeling. Just - the two of them were a sure thing. They were so fucking good together and he just doesn't know _why-_

And doesn't know what they're gonna do without Michael, because they're still in the world's deepest shit when it comes to the Birch Bunker campaign, and they need everyone they can get. Michael's their powerhouse - their loudest, bravest, boldest - they can't lose him. They just can't. But he's ignoring Jack's texts and he doesn't know what happened and-

And so he's already a nervous wreck by the time he walks into their first ACHIEVE meeting after a two-week break to rest and rethink their ideas.

He's texting Geoff, who's stuck on a very late bus, when he walks into the room only to freeze at the sudden hush that falls over everyone. He looks up, and frowns. 

Everyone's here - oddly early, usually people trickle in slowly within the first fifteen minutes of a meeting. Ryan's standing in the middle of the room, and by his side is Gavin - his gaze downcast, arms wrapped around himself, looking smaller than Jack remembers. It's odd to see him without Michael there, and the absence hits him like a knife to the chest.

Ryan's face is like steel. He looks as cold and unwavering as he did the first few times he came to meetings, before they got to know him, when he was just some distant, well-dressed law student, a statue carved from ice. And the room is split - people facing off against each other with folded arms, grim looks on their faces.

A chill runs through Jack's whole body.

Something is very wrong here. He just can't think what.

"What's going on?" he asks, his voice breaking a little. "Ryan? What happened, what's wrong?"

Ryan takes a deep breath.

"Nothing's wrong," he says, but Jack will never forget the way his voice sounds as he speaks the next few words - completely cold, immovable, as though he isn't breaking glass with every word. "Except I've decided to run and challenge Geoff for president."

Jack's heart stops.

"What?"

"Jack, he's not getting us anywhere on this Birch Bunker situation." Ryan steps towards him, gaze earnest now. "He's not thinking straight. He's too close to this. We need to take action, proper action and-"

"Jesus fucking _Christ,_ Ryan. His mother just _died!"_

"Even more reason for him to step down!"

"I can't fucking believe this!" He stares around the room - Miles and Chris look pained, pleading, and he knows they're not happy about this. A bunch of others are shaking their heads, too, staring at Ryan in anger and horror.

But others...

Others are standing behind him, and he can see from the looks on their faces that they agree. And a slow, sinking dread is spreading through Jack's stomach now, because it's... it's not supposed to be like this. They're a team, they're all meant to be on the same side, it's not meant to be a fucking civil war.

"Applications were due yesterday," he breathes, "Campaign season starts now, you never mentioned running these last few weeks... how fucking long have you been planning this?"

"Long enough." Ryan's eyes are hard.

"This is gonna fucking break Geoff. You haven't even warned him-" he breaks off as his phone buzzes, glances down. "He'll be here in two minutes - Jesus, Ryan, you know what this'll do to him?"

"There are more important things at stake," Ryan says. "Like Birch Bunker. Like making sure we can actually help people."

"Gav." Jack turns to him, pleading. "Get out there and stop Geoff coming in, distract him, do something, anything until I can sort this out, he can't know-"

But Ryan steps towards Gavin, then, hand curling around his wrist, tugging him close. Gavin's head's still hanging down and he won't meet Jack's eyes.

"Gavin's backing my campaign," he says. It's not smug but there's still a stone-cold confidence in it. "He agrees that this is for the best. Maybe you can both convince Geoff it is, too."

This...

This is a fucking nightmare, and Jack can only stare between the two of them in horror. He can't believe this is happening, can't wrap his head around how things have, seemingly overnight, fallen so com-fucking-pletely to shit, can't even begin to prepare himself for how much worse they're going to get.

And he's right. Things are bad.

It's all a bit of a blur, but there are some parts he'll never be able to forget.

Like the look on Geoff's face when he walks into that room and realises what's going on.

Like the way his voice breaks, close to tears with anger and frustration and betrayal, when he tries to ask Gavin why he's doing this, why he doesn't believe in him any more, how he can be a part of this, and how Gavin turns his face away and refuses to answer, and how Jack feels like he's looking at a stranger - not the shy, sweet kid who's spent so many nights sleeping over on Jack's couch, the one who'd followed Geoff around like a lost puppy and never seemed far from his side.

He'll never forget how Geoff cries, that night, in front of no one else but him - gets it all out at once, the sheer desperate, raw, furious, frustrated sobs of someone whose whole life is falling apart before his eyes.

And he'll never forget how he, himself, just for a moment, lets himself hate the others. How he lets the anger and fury take over and goe to the gym and spends an hour beating a punching bag until his knuckles nearly split, needing to get it all out because he knows there's a hard fight coming where he'll have to keep a calm tongue and a level head.

 

* * *

 

Some people have already taken sides.

Some do so as the campaign begins. Geoff talks to as many of them as possible, Jack does, too, pleading to old friends and allies. But it seems Ryan - _treacherous bastard,_ Jack thinks sometimes, uncharitably - has already spoken to a lot of them privately about why he's planning to run.

Slowly, slowly, a rift grows between everyone in ACHIEVE until soon they're split down the middle. Geoff has marginally more supporters in the actual collective, experience and long-term friendships on his side.

But ACHIEVE aren't the only ones voting.

They get a lot of funding from UAC, which means the whole student body gets to vote for who's president of the collective, considering it’s their student fees which pay for a lot of their budget. And Ryan... well, Jack hates to admit it, but Ryan's a lot more on his game right now. He's had more time to prepare, he doesn't have the weight of recent tragedy on his shoulders, and he's not rattled by Birch Bunker the way Geoff is. He runs a tight, brutally effective publicity campaign that even Jack has to admit is fucking impressive.

Some of the 'betrayals,' as Geoff insists on calling them, hurt more than others.

Like Lindsay, who Jack always assumed would stick by them. She's apologetic about it, at least, but somehow that's even worse - the fact that she does genuinely believe in Ryan more, thinks his methods will be more effective, thinks Geoff should be taking a break.

Mica's less surprising, but no less painful; Geoff was the one who'd invited her to join ACHIEVE in the first place. Blaine - that one hurts, too, they've known him since he was in high school, actually, and came to visit the campus several times as part of a work experience placement.

But the worst by far is Gavin.

Jack just can't wrap his head around it. Especially since - in the fucking rumour mill that is any student collective - there are whispers all over the place that he and Ryan are sleeping together. And honestly, Jack can see why, because they seem to spend a hell of a lot of time with their heads bent close, murmuring to each other, and there's something intense to the way they look at each other that was never there before, and there's a lot of touching - a hand on a shoulder or to the lower back, a gentle grip to the arm, a fleeting touch to the wrist.

Gavin barely knew Ryan before. Jack knows he found the other man intimidating and used to avoid being alone with him.

He just doesn't get why this happened.

"No, I don't want to fucking talk about it," Geoff snaps, the one time Jack tries to bring it up with him. His eyes are always red, nowadays, and he looks like he's constantly running a low-grade fever, all shaky and flushed. "He's a fucking bitch-ass Judas and that's all there is to it."

"Wow. Okay."

"After everything I did for that kid and he jumps ship first fucking chance he gets. It's unbelievable. You just - you don't _know_ people sometimes. You think you can trust them but you don't _fucking_ know them."

"You don't think there's a reason he did it? Something we... we don't know about or-"

"You know what I fucking think?" Geoff's head snaps up and the anger in his eyes is startling. "I think he broke up with Michael for some shitty, drama-filled reason and Ryan was his rebound and turned his head with sex. I think that's all there fucking is to it, and I didn't think Gavin was the sort, but sometimes you're wrong about people."

"Geoff..."

"What? You have a better explanation? He's _weak,_ Jack. You and I both know it. I loved the kid, but he latches onto people 'cause he's insecure. I mistook it for loyalty when it was me." He spits the words, cruel, like venom, and Jack can't tell if he means them or he's just aiming to hurt. "And Ryan? Ryan's a master at using people. He never cared about any of us."

"You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do. Why else would they do this?"

And there's pain in it, now, pain Jack doesn't have an answer for, and all he can do is squeeze Geoff's shoulder comfortingly and get back to the grindstone.

For the next few weeks it feels like everything's happening in fast-forward. There are speeches to write, lectures to bash, leaflets to print and articles to write. They barely have time to think, or breathe-

And it feels weird. For it to be just him and Geoff and the people on their team. He's used to having Ryan, Gavin, Michael, on their side and helping out. Now it feels like he hardly sees them.

He does run into Gavin once - in the collective meeting room, which has been a warzone for weeks now, but it's late in the day and Jack figures no one will be in there. He freezes when he opens the door and Gavin - sitting cross-legged by the coffee table, hunched over his laptop and tablet - jumps a mile and looks up at him.

"Jack!" he squeaks. "You startled me."

"Sorry," Jack says, and there's a lingering, awkward silence that neither of them quite know how to break. Jack inches into the room to grab his phone charger, which he left here earlier, and he feels Gavin's eyes track his movements.

"How've you been?" he manages, weakly, and hears Gavin swallow.

"Um. Fine. I guess. Kinda wiped."

"Yeah, elections are hellishly busy. But we haven't really had any for ACHIEVE the last few years." There's an accusatory note in his voice that he can't quite tamp down, and he hears Gavin wince. "Usually it's just SRC that we end up doing campaigns for. But no one's really challenged for ACHIEVE president since Burnie got the job."

"Right," Gavin whispers.

"Yeah."

Another awkward pause. Gavin turns back to drawing, but he's just running his tablet pen in aimless circles, and Jack knows he's waiting for him to leave-

But suddenly, he can't. Suddenly, he just has to know - because there's a lump rising in his throat, and God, it feels like it's been years even if it's only been weeks, and he _misses_ Gavin. Misses how easy things used to be. Everything was turned on its head so fast he didn't have time to fix it-

(And he still does think he can fix it, if he could just get a moment to think about things properly-)

"Gavin." He sits next to him and feels Gavin's shoulders stiffen, and feels another pang, because usually the other man's, like, a fucking koala, always clinging to the people he's close to, a head on their shoulder, legs sprawled across their laps. When did this happen to them? _How_ did it happen? As far as he knows, Geoff and Gavin never fought. So why? "Geoff's..."

"Furious?"

"Confused. So am I. What... where did all this come from? I knew Ryan was pissed about Birch Bunker but you..."

Gavin won't meet his eyes, but when Jack's hand folds over his, pulling it away from the tablet, he finally looks up. He looks fucking exhausted, drained in a way that Jack's rarely seen him. He wonders again, briefly, why he and Michael broke up. Michael's still not answering his texts, although he knows the other man's alive; people have seen him around uni.

“Is it so impossible to believe that I just… agree with what he thinks?” Gavin asks, and Jack blinks at him.

“Do you?”  
  
“Yeah, Jack. I do.” He shifts, hands fisting in the pockets of his hoodie. “I love Geoff, Jack, I do, really. But he… he was falling apart over Birch Bunker. We weren’t getting anywhere. I’m just - tired of being scared, tired of playing nice, tired of being pushed around all the time. Ryan wants us to stand up and fight back. Not just with words, but with actions. I like that idea.”

“Gav…”

Jack’s pretty sure he doesn’t know about Geoff’s past with the homeless shelter. That if he did, it might sway him; Gavin’s soft like that. But it’s not his story to tell, and right now Geoff doesn’t even want to look at Gavin, let alone talk to him. Let alone spill his darkest secrets.

“That’s the sort of thing I’d expect from Michael, not you,” he says, and Gavin’s face clouds over instantly.

“Yeah, well Michael’s not fucking here, is he?” he spits, and Jack struggles not to flinch at the venom in his voice.

Not a clean break up, then.

“What happened between you two?”  
  
“Michael doesn’t know what he wants,” Gavin says, with heat, “We thought it was better not to continue what we had going. Doesn’t matter now, anyway. At least he left ACHIEVE.”  
  
“We needed him. He was a good part of all this.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter now.” Gavin shrugs, shoulders hunched miserably. He looks like he’s about to cry, so Jack doesn’t push things. His heart is aching and all he can think is _fix this, fix this_. But now isn’t the time. He reaches out and squeezes Gavin’s shoulder.

“So you agree with Ryan. I don’t. At the end of the day it’s all just politics. Just… know that you’re still my friend, Gav. If you ever want to talk…”

He trails off. Gavin doesn’t answer, just hunches his shoulders further and nods, and Jack leaves, feeling flustered and unsure of himself. Wonders, guiltily, how he could have missed all this.

Could he have nipped it in the bud, if he’d been more aware?

Should he have spent more time with Ryan, not just Geoff, the last few weeks? Should he have gone over to visit Gavin as soon as he heard about the break up? A hundred decisions that could have been made differently. 

But here they are now.

 

* * *

 

If there is one blessing about that utter shitstorm that is the campaign, it’s Jeremy.

Early on in the whole kerfuffle he stuck around after Ryan and his possey left and came up to Geoff’s side and gave him a light punch on the shoulder.

“I got your back, chief,” he’d said, prompting the first smile of Geoff’s all day. “Just tell me what you need me to do and I’ll do it.”  
  
“Thanks, Lil’ J,” Geoff had whispered, and Jack knows it means more than he can say that Jeremy stuck by them.

Jeremy’s, like, part of a slightly odd space in the group. He joined ACHIEVE just a little before Gavin did, so he’s fairly new to the group as well, and he’s not quite as inner-circle as Michael and Ryan were at first, but with the election in full swing they start spending a lot more time together. There’s something steady and calm about his presence that grounds Geoff, that makes Jack feel like maybe everything can be okay. But he keeps a lot of his thoughts to himself.

Jack finds him sitting in the collective room one day, finalising their campaign poster designs. Jeremy’s moving colours around and switching backgrounds, making it look as easy as breathing. Jack struggles to draw a stick figure so he’s always been in awe of the way the others are able to somehow transfer their imaginations to the page.

“You seen Gav’s designs?” he asks, and Jeremy snorts.

“Yeah. Bit over the top.”  
  
“You reckon?”  
  
“He made Ryan look like a fucking Greek god.”  
  
“Which one?” Jack prompts, and Jeremy looks up at him, eyes glinting mischievously.

“Hades,” he says, and Jack has to laugh; it’s a bit mean, but he can’t help it. Ryan’s gone like full on Magneto recently, he strides around giving these great big speeches, he wears a lot of black, and he carries a sort of sizzling intensity everywhere he goes. When he walks into the room the air feels almost electric, like it’s the moments right before a lightning storm.  It would be impressive if he wasn’t what they’re up against. Sometimes Jack texts him, tries to reach out and stay friends, but Ryan leaves them unread. 

_He doesn’t trust you._

Well, maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe Jack does have an ulterior motive, but it’s not a sinister one.

_Can’t we still stop this?_ Or maybe, with the wheels in motion, he just has to let it play out. Just has to let the chips fall where they may and put them back in order afterwards.

“Well, we’re lucky we’ve got you on our side. That looks sick,” Jack says, and Jeremy smiles - shy, genuine.

“Thanks.”  
  
“What do you think of all this, anyway?” Jack asks, settling next to him. “I just… I still don’t get how things got this bad with no one noticing. I got to that meeting late but-”  
  
“Trust me, a bunch of us were just as taken by surprise as you were when Ryan announced he was running. He’d asked some people already what they thought - most supported him, some didn’t - but he didn’t touch the ones he knew would be loyal to Geoff. Like you, like Jon. Like me.”  
  
“Then why Gavin?” Jack asks, and Jeremy bites his lip. “What, you know something?”  
  
Jeremy’s quiet a long moment, idly adding a shadow under the big, bold text that on the poster.

“I’ve been speaking to Michael lately,” he admits, and Jack’s heart stops.

“Wait, what? Is he coming back?”  
  
“No! No, he doesn’t want to. Thinks it’d be too awkward with Gav. But he… he told me a bit about what happened. He tried to make up with Gavin a few times soon after they broke up, but Gav wouldn’t have a bar of it. And he heard - look, I don’t know if this is true or just like gossip-”  
  
“Tell me, Jeremy.”  
  
“He heard Ryan had been over to Gav’s place a lot soon after the break up. I don’t know what was going on, but… they’ve been planning this together for a while.”  
  
“Gavin said he agreed with him.”  
  
“I don’t know Gav well enough to tell.” Jeremy shrugs, but his mouth is pulled tight. “I mean, from what I saw of him he’s always been super non-confrontational, so I don’t know what would get him all up in arms. Maybe the break up. Maybe something else. But if it’s any consolation,” he adds, and meets Jack’s eyes, solemnly, “It wasn’t anything Geoff did.”  
  
“That makes things worse,” Jack mutters, “That makes it even more of a betrayal.”  
  
“Friendships and politics don’t mix well,” Jeremy says, and laughs, humourlessly. “Sometimes I think Barb has the right idea not wanting to join ACHIEVE.”  
  
At that point Jack can only nod, miserably, and they get back to work. But the conversation sticks in his head, drifts back to him sometimes. 

_It wasn't anything Geoff did._

Jack's never been as close to Gavin as Geoff was, but they were still good friends, still saw each other all the time, were up to date on one another's lives - and that's what made this whole thing such a shock to the system. Sure, Geoff was out of town dealing with his Mum's death, but how could things have fallen apart so fast that Gavin's entire life, ideology and loyalties would flip in the span of two weeks?

Nothing makes sense. And until he understands how things go so bad, he can't fix it-

And it's tiring. It's exhausting and frustrating and he feels _impotent_ , left to watch as everything just gets worse and worse.

The night before election week starts, he's at the local officeworks doing some last minute printing when he sees Ryan standing doing his own photocopying. It's past midnight, and  there's something a bit surreal about the cheerfully bright fluorescent lights and the constant whir and hum of the printing machines. They're surrounded by frantic students printing last minute-assignments. Ryan's campaign has picked a very aggressive red as their signature colour, and the photocopier looks like it's spitting blood. Geoff's side went with an eye-catching bright yellow, which half their group had immediately declared "fugly," but it was too late as Geoff had already ordered all the t-shirts.

There's always something a bit awkward about seeing someone you know out in the wild. They make eye contact by accident and Ryan looks vaguely horrified, but they can't exactly ignore each other, and after a moment Jack wanders over to him.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," Ryan replies.

The silence is strained. As with Gavin, they haven't talked much lately. And Jack...

He can't bring himself to be angry with Ryan. Not really. Not even after all this time. Because even now, with that hard, determined look in his eyes - there's always some vague sense of sadness that seems to follow Ryan around, like a cartoon raincloud. Jack can't quite place it, but it's still there now. Something just feels - wrong about all this.

"So," he says. "Tomorrow it all starts, then, huh?"

"It seems that way."

"You're really going through with this."

"Obviously," Ryan says, but there's no bite in it. "What, did you think I was bluffing?"

"No," Jack says, and his voice comes out softer, sadder than he intended. "No, I... I didn't."

But he had held onto some hysterical, unrealistic hope that maybe - somehow - miraculously, this wouldn't go ahead. That it would fade and pass like a bad dream. But now, he's realising, that hope is slipping away. He was foolish to ever even consider it.

"Jack..." Ryan looks pained. "You know I'm not doing this because I dislike you, or Geoff, or anyone in ACHIEVE."

"I should fucking hope not."

"This is for the best. You'll see, in the end."

That endless arrogance. Ryan turns back to the photocopier and on impulse Jack grabs his arm, spins him back around. He feels a sudden desperation, knows he has to at least try. Thinks this is his last chance before reality comes crashing down on them, before wounds are inflicted that will leave worse scars than they already have.

"Ryan... please..."

He can't find the words that will make this right. Ryan's staring expectantly and it's making him nervous.

"Don't do this." It's pathetic, but it's all he can manage. "There's still time to drop out. Please... just... we'll figure something out, I'll convince Geoff to let you do more in the campaign, just - don't run. Don't tear us apart like this."

"It's not about us, Jack." Ryan's voice is gentle but firm, and the look in his eyes doesn't waver. "I'm sorry, but - I have to do this. I have to."

"Why? What's going on with you? Did something happen, because from our point of view this came out of nowhere-"

"Jack." Ryan's hand's on his shoulder now, steady, reassuring, and Jack realises - distantly - that he's breathing too fast, that he's getting upset. "What's wrong with you?"

'"I don't want us to fall apart," Jack whispers, and yeah, maybe it's fucking pathetic but there are tears in his eyes, because they mean a lot to him. These men, his friends, his brothers, he loves them. He loves ACHIEVE. "I... I can't let us-"

"This isn't on you." Ryan looks worried. "Don't... don't make it like that, Jack. This isn't personal, I promise. And you shouldn't take it like a failure on your part. You can't fix everything, Jack - you can't fix _everyone_. And it's not your job to."

Jack manages a small smile, but it disappears as soon as he steps away. He can't shake the feeling that something Ryan just said was a lie, that he didn't really mean it. He just - can't figure out what. It's late at night, and the lights are giving him a headache, and tomorrow this will all become suddenly, shockingly real-

And things are falling apart, and he can do nothing but stand by and watch, and the only thing more excruciating than his failure to prevent this is the fact that he can't do a fucking thing to help.

 

* * *

 

Right here, right now-

Jack's not fine.

He's sort of realising that, distantly, as the party goes on. He's too stressed, and it's making his stomach ache and his head spin. He can't think straight. At least there's Jeremy now, by his side, ready to help out. It's taken a weight off Jack's shoulders that he didn't quite realise was there.

They stand in the corner of the living room, surveying the party.

"I need to talk to Michael," Jack says, finally. "Can you get him alone somewhere?"

"Where?" Jeremy asks.

"The garage."

Jeremy bites his lip. He looks troubled, and, tiredly, Jack nudges him with his elbow.

"What's wrong?"

"I just... I feel kinda bad. Manipulating him."

"How is it manipulating him?"

"Well, I assume you don't want me telling him that you want to talk to him and that's why you're luring him out to some isolated location."

"I just want a quiet place to chat." Jack's hand's on his shoulder, smiling. "You don't have to lie, Jeremy. Just - he trusts you, and I want him to feel comfortable. Hell, you can stay if you like. Trust me, it'll be fine. All we're trying to do is help them here."

"Help him how? By picking apart what happened with Gav?"

"By hearing his side of the story," Jack says, and means it. "There's too much misinformation floating around here. I just - want to get to the bottom of things."

Jeremy looks down - but Jack's hand runs down his arm, soothingly, and he fixes him with his most reassuring smile, and after a moment Jeremy's shoulders relax and he huffs out a long breath.

"Okay. Okay. I can do that. I'll make sure he's there."

"Thanks, Lil J," Jack says, and watches him slip away. As soon as he's gone, the exhaustion floods back in. He hasn't realised until now just how tiring it is to put up a smile, a mask. The amiable host. In reality he just wants this entire sorry business over with.

He straightens his shoulders, and goes to find Geoff, only to freeze.

Gavin's standing in a corner of the room. He's not hiding or being creepy or anything - he's just standing there, making no effort to talk to anyone, a blank look on his face, arms hanging by his sides - staring out at the room with dead eyes. With the amount of people in the room, no one seems to have seen him, and Jack's mouth feels suddenly dry. He swallows hard and heads over.

"Gavin?" he calls out, tentatively. "You okay, bud?"

Gavin stares at him. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face is frighteningly devoid of emotion. When Jack reaches out and shakes his shoulder, he just stands there, ragdoll-limp.

"Gav?" Jack prompts, worried.

"Jack?" Gavin whispers, his voice rasping and dry. He licks his lips and tries again. "I.... sorry, I just..."

"Hey, what's going on? What's there to be sorry about?"

Gavin just stares at him helplessly, and looks so much like a lost child that it breaks Jack's heart. He wraps an arm around Gavin's shoulders and leads him away; Gavin stumbles alongside him, making no effort to pull away. He's not moving like he's drunk, more like he's so tired that he has no energy left. Jack takes him upstairs, away from the noise and light, and into his bedroom, and shuts the door behind them. Gavin sinks down onto the bed and stares at his shoes.

"Gav?" Jack's seriously worried now. "I thought you went home."

He sees Gavin swallow a few times, and passes him a bottle of water; he takes it, limply, but doesn't drink it, just starts picking the label off.

"Was gonna," Gavin says. "Then just sort of... didn't. Didn't wanna walk across campus. It's cold and I-"

His voice breaks a bit; Jack sits at his feet, looks up at him, waits patiently.

"I just - didn't wanna be at uni." Gavin puts the bottle aside and clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms. Jack reaches out and gently takes his hands.

"Are you okay?" he asks - as deeply, urgently, sincerely as he can. "Don't lie. I'm not angry or upset, Gav. You're my friend and I care about you and I don't want you to pretend just because it's my party or my birthday. Are you alright?"

Gavin's lip trembles. He squeezes his eyes shut, screws his eyes shut furiously, but he's shaking hard, and Jack can see the moment he breaks.

"No," he says, and suddenly his voice is cracking and he's heaving in hysterical, gasping, sobbing breaths. It sounds like he's choking, and Jack wants to pull him close, wrap his arms around him, but doesn't want to stifle him. He waits, thumb running soothing circles over the back of Gavin's hands. "Nothing's fucking okay. Geoff hates me and - and I fucked up everything. Everything! With him and - and with my family and with Michael-"

"What happened?"

"It all just went so wrong." Gavin yanks his hands back, presses them to his face. His voice is muffled, but Jack leans in to make out the words. "It all just- fell apart and I couldn't stop it."

Jack thinks, perhaps a bit inappropriately, _mood._

"I didn't realise you didn't know Michael was here tonight," he whispers. "I'm sorry if that took you by surprise."

The mention of Michael's name makes Gavin flinch, curl in on himself. He draws another shuddering breath.

"Is that what this is about?" Jack asks, hand rubbing soothingly across Gavin's knee, now. "Michael?"

"Jack..."

"Come on, Gav. Talk to me."

"I miss him, okay?" Gavin blurts out, and drops his hands from his face. It hits Jack, suddenly, that he's never actually seen Gavin cry before. He's seen him angry, and upset, and scared, but never - never like this. Never so thoroughly worn down and broken. "I fucking miss him, Jack! I... I never wanted to lose him but he - he hurt me so fucking badly and everything was just _wrong_ and I just - couldn't be near him. And I was scared so I pushed him away and I fucking ran, but not a day has gone by that I didn't wish we were still together. I miss him so much it hurts. I missed him the whole fucking time shit was going down with ACHIEVE, and I miss him now, but none of it fucking matters because he's moved on! He's with Jeremy now!"

Jack stares at him. The raw pain in Gavin's voice makes him ache, but his heart's hammering with something like hope.

_He still loves him._

_He still wants to be with him. I don't know where Michael's head's at, but - there's hope. This could work out._

_You can fix this. Just like you fixed things with your parents. You know you can do this._

“What if he wasn’t with Jeremy?” he whispers.

Gavin stares at him. It doesn’t look like he’s really taking the words in.

“Gavin,” Jack urges, louder now, “Have you talked to Michael tonight?”

“Yeah,” Gavin mutters, “It didn’t go well.”

“What would you tell him? If it could go well.”  
  
Gavin bites his lip. He looks away, reluctantly, and Jack can take a hint. _Okay. It’s private_.

“Is there… is there something you think he doesn’t understand about why you broke up? Something you’d want him to know?”  
  
“Probably,” Gavin admits, “I… we didn’t really talk. After it happened. Not properly.”  
  
“I think maybe there are things he might want you to know, too,” Jack says. Jeremy’s words are ringing in his head. _Gavin refused to even listen to what he had to say._

_They could have worked it out if they wanted to_.

“But Jeremy…”

“Jeremy and Michael aren’t together. _Trust me_ ,” Jack says, “They aren’t. Not any more than you and Ryan are.”  
  
He’s bracing himself for a negative reaction - but that actually makes Gavin’s frown fade for a moment, makes something thoughtful flicker across his face. But a second later, the fear floods back in.

“I can’t.” He curls in on himself, and Jack moves up onto the bed next to him, wraps an arm around his shoulders. “I can’t, Jack, I… it’s too late.”  
  
“It’s not, Gavin.”  
  
“It is, I - I fucked it up and… I don’t think I could stand to give myself false hope, I… I think we’re both too broken, I think-”  
  
“Gav-”  
  
“Maybe it’s for the best, anyway-”  
  
“Gavin.”  
  
“I can’t _do it_ , Jack!” Gavin cries. “I’m just - I’m fucking _tired_ , okay? I’ve given everything I have and there’s nothing left! I can’t face anything else going wrong, I just… I can’t.” And then, so softly Jack nearly doesn’t catch it, “I’m running out of time.”

“Wait, what does that mean?” Jack demands, concerned - he grabs Gavin’s wrist, pulls until he turns to face him - but Gavin gives him a weak smile.

“Nothing, Jack, I’m fine. Just - I’ve got some family stuff going on, and I’m not looking forward to going back at Christmas, and I just… don’t know what’s gonna happen after I graduate. Things just feel very precarious at the moment. I don’t wanna talk about it,” he adds, when Jack opens his mouth, “But it’s _shit_ and I just - I don’t know what to do. Without Geoff, without Michael. I can’t face losing anything else.”  
  
Jack doesn’t know what to say. Words can’t fix this, he thinks, not in this moment when Gavin looks so fragile, so vulnerable. After a moment he just pulls the other man close, instead, falling back against the pillows, Gavin’s head cushioned on his shoulder, Jacks arms around him. Gavin doesn’t pull away, and after a moment he presses his face into Jack’s shoulder, huddles close to him.

They lie there for a little while. Gavin’s shaking, and then he isn’t. Jack feels himself relax - knows that no matter what happens after this, at least he and Gavin are okay.

That’s something he doesn’t think Geoff and Ryan quite realised - that they bulldozed through a dozen different friendships by taking things so far. That Jack’s own relationships with a lot of people on Ryan’s side were casualties of their feud. That a lot of people in ACHIEVE have felt the ramifications of this.

Finally, he lifts a hand and strokes it through Gavin’s hair.

“I think it’d be good if you talked to Michael while he’s here,” he whispers, carefully. “Just - patch things up, even a little. I’ll come with you, if you want. If you think you need to, you could apologise - you might not think it, but that goes a long way. And I think he… he might want to clear the air too.”  
  
It’s a gamble, because he hasn’t actually talked to Michael yet - but Gavin doesn’t outright reject the suggestion. Jack can tell he’s listening.

“Or,” he continues, “I can drive you home, if you want. No questions asked. Or you can stay here and crash for the night.”  
  
“I don’t want to go home,” Gavin says immediately, and Jack rubs his shoulder.

“Okay.”  
  
“I… I don’t know what I want-” He breaks off as his stomach gives a gurgle that can only be described as thunderous, and Jack raises an eyebrow.

“When’d you last eat?” he asks, and Gavin bites his lip.

“Yesterday?”  
  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Gav!” Jack sits up, pulling Gavin with him. “No wonder you’re so tired and out of it! Have you been drinking, too? Go eat something right now! Want me to bring you something?”  
  
He’s aware he’s fussing like a mother hen, but Gavin giggles - at least this is back to a semblance of their normal.

“No, it’s fine - there was pizza, right?”  
  
“They got it from that super greasy place, though - make some toast or something. There’s some leftovers in the fridge you can microwave. Seriously - you’ll feel better once you’ve got some food in you, I promise. Maybe you’ll have a clearer head then.”  
  
“ _You’re not you when you’re hungry_ ,” Gavin intones, in a deep voice. Jack’s just glad to see him smiling. After a moment Gavin gives a thoughtful nod. “You’re right. That… actually does sound like a good idea.”  
  
He heads for the door, and Jack swings his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I’ll be down in a minute. Text me if you want to talk it over some more, okay?” He knows he’ll go find Gavin again later, depending on how this play out - but Gavin pauses, looks back over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, a bit sheepishly, “Thanks, Jack. For taking care of me. It… it means a lot that you look out for me.”  
  
“You don’t need to thank me, Gavin,” Jack says, “Just doing what any friend would. But you know a lot of us around here would take care of you in a heartbeat, right?”

Gavin bites his lip, but nods. He scampers from thee room - and Jack hopes he really is okay, that he really will go and eat something and go talk to Michael.

Still. His shoulders slump as soon as the door shuts. Just the effort of holding things together for Gavin - being reassuring and supportive and _positive_ \- has left him emotionally drained. He flops back on the bed and lies there for a moment. Closes his eyes.

_Hope._

Or is it just another complication? Gavin’s here - but will he talk to Michael? Does Michael want to talk to him?  
  
He has to go to the garage, see where Michael’s head’s at - but right now, he doesn’t want to move. He goes to text Caiti, only to remember she’s asleep, and lets his phone fall to his side.

_Rest. Just for a minute. Rest._

He checks the time. It’s just past midnight, and he groans. This is the longest fucking night in the world - he has no idea where things are gonna go from here. There’s about two hours until the party winds down significantly, and six hours to dawn. He knows a lot of people will crash here instead of going home. That’s assuming all the relevant people, all the ones he invited here for a purpose, don’t leave soon anyway.

How much can he change in six hours?  
  
His phone starts buzzing, urgently, a flurry of texts. Stomach sinking, he checks it. It’s Jeremy.

_Uhhh, dude._

_Idk where you are but Geoff’s started a fight?_  
  
_Like a big fucking fight in the garden, can you come out here?_  
  
_Like wtfff_

“Holy shit,” Jack whispers, and sits up-

And then hesitates.

For a moment, he just - can’t deal with it. It seems to overwhelm him like a looming brick wall that he’s rushing towards at breakneck pace. More shit, more drama - just when he was getting somewhere! Something that could literally bring his whole plan crashing down, bring the entire party to a close. His limbs feel like jelly, and for a moment he wants to just sit here. Like if he doesn’t go out and see it, he won’t have to deal with it.

But he doesn’t.

He takes a deep breath, and gets up, and gets going, because that’s what he _does_.


	4. jeremy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** this chapter explores the perspective of a character who takes a more critical/ambivalent position towards student activism, and especially the involvement of minority identities within them. I don't necessarily agree with their position (or 100% agree with the positions of the other characters in the story so far) but my interest is in exploring how different viewpoints are shaped by individuals' lives and experiences, from my own perspective as someone who is bi, asian and has been involved in Australian student political collectives.  <3

**iv. jeremy**

Honestly? If Jeremy could turn back time, he probably wouldn't come to the party tonight.

Hell, even as he made the decision to show up, he knew it was a bad idea. It goes something like this: he's at Michael's house, after spending all day playing video games, and there's something too aggressive to the way the other man's slaughtering their opponents in Call of Duty, jumping into firefights and swearing up a storm. In the pit of Jeremy’s stomach, there's a lurking unease.

"You know," he says at one point, "We don't have to go."

"It's Jack's birthday. It'd be rude not to," Michael grunts, but isn't meeting his eyes.

"I think it's a bad idea. He's invited everyone from ACHIEVE. And I mean everyone - both sides of the whole debacle!"

"ACHIEVE'S ACHIEVE. This is just a birthday party. If people are mature they should be able to put aside their differences for one night. Besides, it's Jack, he's like - the most likeable person around. It should be fine," Michael says. There's a sharp edge in his voice, and he's speaking just a little too fast. 

Jeremy's no fool.

"Yeah, but _are_ they mature?" he asks, and Michael snorts. He throws down his controller and rolls off the bed, wandering towards his closet. Jeremy watches him go, heart aching. 

Thing is, he knows Jack way too well. He's seen how torn-up the poor guy is about all this. Probably blaming himself somehow. He's gonna try to get them all to make up and play nice, and when they don't, he'll get all upset, and they'll just end up in a worse position than they started.

Not to mention, it's been a long fucking time since Michael saw any of the others. Jeremy's not sure what Jack's playing at, here.

"There'll probably be a fistfight," he calls out, and Michael's laugh echoes back towards him.

"Yeah? You'd win, with your boxing."

"I'm pretty sure Ellie's some sort of black belt in Krav Maga," he says, "She'd probably kick my ass."

"She's on Geoff's side, though. You'd both kick everyone else's ass." But his voice wavers, and Jeremy knows what he's thinking.

_Gav's on Ryan's side._ That's, like, the one thing they haven't talked about in all this - the one thing Michael's refused to so much as speculate on. He watches as Michael swans back into the room in a new shirt and his tightest skinny jeans, and does a little catwalk over to the mirror, spinning slowly with his hands in his pocket. Jeremy jokingly wolf-whistles - and he does look good, Michael always does - but Michael shakes his head, goes back into the walk-in. Jeremy hears him moving hangers around.

"It's cold out," he says, "Bring a jacket."

Michael emerges with three, and Jeremy's eyebrows rise.

"Geez. Who're you trying to impress?"

"You," Michael says, sticking his tongue out, and Jeremy snorts and flops back.

"Please," he scoffs, and Michael rolls his eyes. And it's true, it's not like that, they're not like that. Or at least, Jeremy hopes they're not. Hopes that Michael really does understand that the two of them are not actually together. He's not looking to be anyone's rebound. But things just - happened very quickly, and he likes what they have here. How easy it is. 

Truth is, he's needed an outside perspective on this whole thing with Geoff and Ryan, and Michael's steady, no-bullshit attitude has been a lifesaver.

It's just the other stuff Jeremy doesn't like. The bucketloads of personal drama that make Michael just - exhausting to hang out with. He's like a firecracker, burns hot and quick and blows up everything he touches. Sometimes it's easier to distract him with a kiss than let things get to that point.

"Seriously, though," Michael says, discarding a coat and holding up one leather jacket and one denim one. "Which one looks better?"

"And I'm serious," Jeremy says, sitting up a bit on the bed, "Why do you care so much?"

"I don't," Michael snaps, but his shoulders are tense. "It's just a fucking jacket, Jeremy, ain't no fucking hidden meaning."

_Is it because Gavin will be there and he hasn't seen you in months?_ Jeremy thinks, but knows better than to say it out loud. At this point, things are starting to get a bit too much for him to juggle. If he's honest, he's a bit sick of it all. 

So he does what he does best. He comes up by Michael's side. Takes the denim jacket and tosses it on the bed; drapes the leather one around his shoulders.

"Leather's warmer," he says, and leans in, kissing Michael squarely on the mouth before pulling away. Michael leans towards him, chasing his touch, but Jeremy laughs and ducks away.

"I'm gonna go early. Help Jack set up some. I'll see you later, right?"

"Fashionably late, as always," Michael says, and Jeremy salutes and ducks away. He pauses in the doorway, glancing back into the bedroom. Michael's absorbed in the mirror, turning this way and that, and Jeremy bites his lip.

_What the fuck will he say to Gavin when he sees him?_

There are a hundred ways this can go down, none of them pretty, and suddenly he entertains the thought of just - heading home and not getting involved in this. Because he will get dragged in, he knows he will. It always happens. It's always messy. It always blows up in their faces and someone gets burned and this time.... this time he's somehow managed to get himself in much, much deeper than usual.

But he doesn't. He takes a deep breath and goes to his car and drives to Jack's house, and now here he is, seven hours later, standing in the freezing backyard with his phone clutched in his hand and watching chaos break out around him.

Yeah, this was a bad fucking idea.

He'd legit been joking about the fistfight. Thanks, God, for listening and apparently taking that part seriously.

A crowd's gathered, and Geoff's squaring off against two of Ryan’s supporters - Flynt and some kid whose name Jeremy can't remember. The two have always been unpleasant sorts - fringe members of ACHIEVE who show up now and then at their social events and rarely seem to do much actual work, although they do pop up at the occasional rally, where they seem to do little more than take selfies.

They're also both aggressively, obnoxiously drunk.

Jeremy only vaguely saw the start of the argument. Geoff had been wandering past when one of them called out something - not even something that bad, something like “tough luck” - and he'd just snapped - spun around and started fucking _screaming_ in their faces. That got them riled up; they squared up on him and then he threw a glass and now they're up in one another's faces, pushing and shoving, spitting and screaming.

"Loser, loser, fucking loser," Flynt's chanting - apparently not at his most eloquent when hammered.

Geoff's not drunk, of course, but he is out-of-his-fucking-mind angry, and Jeremy can tell - even from a distance - that he's lost control. Something that's happened tonight has pushed him past his limit.

"You two fuckwits have no fucking clue what you've done," he's shouting. "You should keep your damn mouths shut if you don't know what you're even standing for."

"Fine words from the guy who lost the election," Flynt shouts back.

"Because I was fucking betrayed by your snake of a leader!"

"Or you're just a pathetic little bitch who couldn't keep the presidency of his own collective-"

Geoff lunges at him with a roar and Jeremy starts forward, horrified - the crowd of mostly very drunk college kids makes an enthusiastic noise, crowding in to get a better look. Where the fuck is Jack? Geoff's got Flynt's shirt in a death-grip and they're both trying to wrestle one another to the ground, splitting expletives and calling each other a lot of very creative names that don't make much logical - or biological - sense, and which Jeremy really has no desire to repeat.

"Well," a voice drawls next to him, as he's debating either jumping into the fray himself or going to look for a fire extinguisher, "This is a fucking mess."

He turns to find Ryan standing next to him, gaze fixed intently on the fight, arms folded. His expression is, as always, as unreadable as a marble statue.

"Ryan," Jeremy mutters, and the other man glances at him.

He and Ryan have never been particularly close. They've worked together, of course, same way everyone in ACHIEVE's worked together. But they're not tight, and he lost a lot of respect for the guy after what he did to Geoff. 

"For once I'm not the one involved," Ryan says, and Jeremy snorts.

"You say that like it's something to be proud of."

"Do we have a problem?" Ryan demands, turning to him properly, and Jeremy swallows hard. For a second, it's easy to understand why so many people find him intimidating; there's a cold certainty in his voice. A confidence that he could take you apart if he wanted to - in every sense of the phrase.

But if there's one thing Jeremy's never been, it's a coward, and he squares up and stares into Ryan's eyes.

"Yeah, Ryan, we fucking do, actually. Those are _your_ guys out there, taunting Geoff over _your_ campaign. You're president now. It's your responsibility to step in."

"Technically I'm not president until Monday," Ryan points out.

"Yeah? Well you're already doing a bang-up job," Jeremy snaps. He starts forward - but to his surprise, Ryan catches his arm and pulls him back. Jeremy yanks his arm back and whirls around to glare at him. "What?"

Ryan's fixing him with a funny, speculative look, but Jeremy just scowls at him. God, but he's not in the fucking mood for this. This party's only getting worse and worse as time goes on. It's not serving any real purpose, in his opinion. It's not fun, it's not relaxing, and from everything he's seen, Jack's scheme to make them all one big happy family again is not exactly going swimmingly either.

"You really don't like me, do you?" Ryan asks.

It's... not the comment Jeremy was expecting. He blinks a few times.

"What do you care?"

"I suppose we've never been close." Is he dreaming, or is there almost a quiet disappointment in Ryan's voice? "Although we've both been in the collective long enough."

"What, you upset I didn't take your side?" Jeremy snaps. "What you did was shitty, Ryan. Simple as that. All that shit about Birch Bunker aside, Geoff was your _friend._ You should have warned him about what you were going to do. The way you did things - it was fucking malicious. You know that, right? You're a smart guy. There's no way you _didn't_ do it deliberately. So you know what? No, I don't like you. Because you did a bad, cruel, _vicious_ thing, and you've never once shown remorse for it. I don't care about your fucking politics. Geoff _trusted_ you. And you tore that all apart without a second thought."

He's... angrier than he thought. The words spit out of him and he sees Ryan take them in, even if he doesn't flinch.

"Or do you have some secret, heart-wrenching reason for it all that I don't know about?" Jeremy demands, mockingly.

Ryan's lips pull into a tight smile.

"What's done is done," he says, coldly. "Who cares about the why?"

"Jack, apparently," Jeremy mutters, but Ryan doesn't seem to hear him. He's already elbowing past.

"Well, you're right about one thing, Jeremy," he calls over his shoulder, "I _will_ deal with this mess, since it seems no one else here is stepping in."

"Dick," Jeremy hisses, but the crowd falls hushed as Ryan wades into the middle of the fight. Jeremy envies that, sometimes - that he has the sort of presence that can silence a room and get people hanging on his every word. He's not sure if it comes from being rich, or being six foot plus and looking like a model.

Either way, Ryan uses it to his full advantage. He strides forward and thrusts himself between the brawling pair - shoves Flynt and the other guy back and then turns and catches Geoff's wrists. From where he's standing, Jeremy can't see the look on Geoff's face, but he doesn't miss the way the other man's spine stiffens.

"Enough!" Ryan orders, his voice ringing through the garden. "Must you behave like children?"

"Stay out of this, Ryan!" Geoff snaps, wrenching himself free only to lean forward into the other man's space. "This is nothing to fucking do with you."

"Sounded a hell of a lot like you were talking about me," Ryan replies, coolly - but then turns to the other two and looks like some sort of admonishing parental figure. "That was fucking disgraceful. You aren't doing yourselves or my team any favours. Get the hell out of here and go home. If I catch you behaving like this again you're out of the collective."

The two boys, made brave only with drink, cower back and nod sheepishly. Ryan turns back to Geoff, who stands breathing heavily, clearly still spoiling for a fight. Jeremy's fists clench at his sides.

Something feels different tonight.

What was so humiliating the entire campaign was the fact that Ryan was out-matching them at every turn. It'd seemed like everything they tried, he was doing two steps ahead of them and better, crushing Geoff slowly under his heel. But now... he can't place it, but there's a subtle shift in the air. Either Geoff's stronger now, somehow, with nothing left to lose - or there's something a little off about Ryan, a nerve that was exposed somewhere along the way. He doesn't know what's about to happen.

But then Ryan steps forward, and grips Geoff's arm, and leans in. Jeremy only just hears him say, "We need to talk."

Before Geoff can protest, Ryan's yanking him through the crowds and down the side of the house. Jeremy watches them go, deeply confused.

_Wait - what the fuck just happened?_

At that moment Jack comes running from the house, looking harried. It makes Jeremy's heart wrench to see his bloodshot eyes and gaunt face. This is meant to be his birthday party. Instead he just sort of looks like the world's ending and he's trying to tick off every item on his bucket list before then. He's more worried about the other man than he wants to admit - and although he's pretty sure tonight's gonna end in tears, he's also dreading how much that's gonna break Jack when it happens.

Of all of them, he doesn't deserve this.

"Where's the fight?" Jack gasps, staring around. The crowd’s dispersing now, muttering amongst themselves.

"They broke up. Flynt and what's-his-name over there," Jeremy says, pointing, "Were having a go at Geoff. It got rough. Hey - I'll do that!"

Jack's bending to pick up the broken glass but Jeremy waves him away and grabs a nearby trash bag to do it himself. He can tell Jack's running on adrenaline.

"Wait, so it's over? What happened?" Jack asks. "I thought I was gonna have to call the police."

"Ryan stepped in," he says, and see the look on Jack's face. "Yeah, I know."

"What did Geoff do?"

"Ryan dragged him away. He said they were gonna talk."

"Fuck," Jack whispers.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Jeremy straightens up and looks him in the eyes. He might've agreed to help, but he's still uneasy about the whole thing.

Here's the thing he sometimes thinks Jack doesn't quite get - as much as he's fond of the other man, as much as he loves his kindness and appreciates his unflappable attempts to help. But people aren't puzzles. Sometimes they don't make sense, they aren't rational, no matter how you try to solve their problems it just - _might not work_. Sometimes they have broken edges that you can't fit together any more.

Jack could do everything perfectly tonight, but if people don't want to make up, it's not gonna happen.

And as for Jeremy? Honestly, at this point, he isn't sure what he wants. All he's trying to do is keep his head above water. So as far as he's concerned, if Ryan and Geoff know what they're doing, that's all good.

But Jack's shaking his head.

"They're still pissed at each other. Last I saw Geoff he was fucking furious. Jesus." He runs his hands over his face, and Jeremy's heart aches at how exhausted he looks. "I gotta go find them-"

"I'll do it," Jeremy blurts out. "You go talk to Michael."

"But-"

"Seriously, Jack, it's fine. I told him to go wait for me in the garage. He should be there by now. Your plan can stay on track. I'll go find those two and make sure they're not killing each other." He smiles, encouragingly, and after a second Jack gives a hesitant smile.

"Okay. Thanks, Jeremy."

Jeremy claps him on the shoulder and turns to walk away. 

_You could still leave._

The thought swims into his head as he looks around. The party peaked about an hour ago but since then the crowds have thinned a little; a lot of people from ACHIEVE have gone home. The med students and their other friends are still hanging around, but honestly, it's hitting that time of night when drinking stops being so fun and everyone gets all lethargic - sick of the loud music, the long night.

_You could get out of here and go to sleep and in the morning - well, whatever happened will have happened._

He kind of wants to. In the short term, it'd be a lot less stressful.

But the part of his brain that's not drunk and is still connected to his conscience feels heavy at the thought of that. _No, you can't. You can't abandon Jack. You can't just - quit, right?_

And he can't leave Michael behind, not now that he's certain of what Jack's end-goal is. What will Michael say if Jeremy ups and disappears and isn't here to support him if things turn to shit? He'd be pretty upset. After all, the two of them are...

Well, they're...

_You're not together._

When this started they were both just, like, "Hey, let's have a bit of fun." Well, perhaps _fun_ isn't the best way to describe it, because Michael had just looked so lonely, and really, really fucking sad, and had spent an inordinate amount of time ranting about the rumours to do with Ryan and Gavin, and when he'd moved to kiss Jeremy (after several beers and an ill-advised amount of mac and cheese), Jeremy had stopped him, at first, with a hand to the chest.

"You're not thinking straight."

Michael had just grinned, lop-sided and a little tipsy, and been like, "Yeah, I'm definitely not thinking _straight."_

"Seriously, dude?"

"Jeremy, I'm fine," he'd groaned, slumping back against the bed. "I'm not looking for anything serious. I just wanna make out with a cute guy and take my mind off this whole mess. If that's what you're looking for, then good. But if you're not into it, that's fine, too. No questions asked."

It's things like this which, Jeremy is starting to realise, are probably the reason Michael finds himself embroiled in so much drama all the time.

And okay, thinking back on it? Yeah, Jeremy's made a lot of bad decisions lately.

Still. It's too late now. He's reached a point where he can't really back out, can he? Not without upsetting a lot of people, and now he sighs and makes his way down the side of the house, following Ryan and Geoff.

 

* * *

 

_Hey are you coming back?_

_Yooo lil j'_

_Jack's asking a lot of questions..._

Jeremy sighs, rubbing his temples as he flicks the latest notification from Michael off his phone screen. Surely, surely it must be possible for these people to go fifteen minutes without involving him in some sort of drama. 

Also, Ryan and Geoff have apparently vanished into thin air.

Like, seriously. He went all around the side of the house and they're not there. Did they go back in through the front? But why would they do that? They could've just gone in the back door if they wanted to go inside. It's really very confusing.

Still. They must be indoors, unless for some reason they left the party entirely, and he's just heading in when a voice calls out from next to him, "Hey."

It's not anyone he recognises. He turns, looking around, and it takes him a second to place where it's coming from. Then he sees a slight, shadowy figure sitting on the hood of one of the cars parked in the driveway. He squints, moving forward.

"Sorry, do I know you?"

"Nope," the guy drawls, and when Jeremy gets closer, it takes a second for him to put the pieces together. He squints, confused and just a little suspicious.

"Are... Jesus, you're not Ray?"

Ray flashes him a peace sign, and Jeremy can only stare. He's sitting cross-legged on Blaine's jeep, hood of his sweatshirt pulled up, rolling a cigarette - like a very strange, scruffy little ghost.

And here's the thing. Jeremy's actually never met Ray before.

He's seen photos, but you never really know someone from a photo, do you. Especially because, even then, there aren't that many. Just remnants, deep in Michael's facebook albums - the occasional blurry snapshot from a party or other social event. They didn't really take that many pics of them as a couple. If they passed each other on the street, Jeremy wouldn't have given him a second glance.

And here's what he knows about Ray: that he dated Michael. That it was a whirlwind of a relationship that went to shit real, real fucking fast after they'd been friends for years and left him so torn up he didn't date again for a long time. That he came back into Michael's life right in time to make it all go to shit _again_ \- but other than that, Michael talks about him surprisingly little. And no one else in ACHIEVE really knew him that well. He's effectively a mystery.

The only reason he really recognises him now is 'cause Jack mentioned him earlier. And God - that makes him do another double take.

"Didn't Jack kick you out?"

"Yeah," Ray says, and spreads his arms. "Look. I'm out."

"You're still in the front yard."

"I'm out of the house. That counts."

"I think technically the front yard is still Jack's property," Jeremy says, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously. What are you doing?"

"Waiting for Michael. I needa talk to him."

"Yeah? Well join the fucking queue, 'cause Jack's having a heart to heart right now and if he has his way, Gavin's next in line. And then I should probably have a word with him," Jeremy mutters, and reaches up again, rubbing his temples hard. Tonight's just getting more and more complicated. "Look, why don't you just go home. I'll tell him to call you."

"Nah, I think I need to speak with him," Ray says. "And who are you, exactly?"

Jeremy gives him a measuring look. And it strikes him, then, that he has no fucking clue how to introduce himself.

_A friend? The guy Michael's seeing?_ Except that implies they're going somewhere, and they're not.

Before he can come up with something, Ray laughs. He hops off the hood and takes a step forward; Jeremy steps back, automatically. He's not quite sure why, except that - from what he's heard from Michael, from the others, occasionally...

Ray's trouble. He heralds things falling apart. A lot of what Jeremy knows is just rumours, but - the way Michael describes him, on the rare occasions he actually got into their relationship, it wasn't with the anger or bitter resentment that's usually part of a break up. No, it was just a lot of sadness and, oddly, something nearly approaching fear. Not fear of Ray himself, nothing that sinister, but - as though he was cursed, as though his touch could contaminate.

It's not fair. It's irrational and a bit mean, but he can't help it. The guy showing up tonight suddenly feels like a bad omen.

"I saw you, you know."

"What?" Jeremy demands.

"You and Michael. Holding hands. I was hanging at this party for a bit before Jack booted me out. You two together?"

"What's it to you?" Jeremy snaps. He doesn't like where this is going. He should turn and leave. But he doesn't. There's something almost hypnotic to Ray's dark eyes, his rasping voice.

"What happened to Gavin?" And there's something surprisingly gentle in it, now. "Because last I heard, they were happily together."

"Wait, what?" Jeremy says, and they stare at each other for a moment, awkwardly. "You didn't know?"

Ray shakes his head. Jeremy bites his lip. He glances back at the door of the house, then looks at Ray - his face shadowed by his hood, lit only by the glow of his cigarette.

_This is a bad idea._

He should tell Ray to fuck off and go back inside right now. Get back to what he's meant to be doing - find Ryan and Geoff, make sure everything's fine, check in on Michael and then get the hell out of here. But Ray reaches out, suddenly, and touches his shoulder. Jeremy flinches.

"What?" he demands, and Ray's lips twist.

"You shouldn't date him."

"What?"

"You shouldn't go out with Michael. You know that, right? He's trouble."

"The fuck's that supposed to mean?" Jeremy snaps - something hot and flaring and protective rising up in his chest; he might get frustrated as fuck with his friends sometimes but he'll be the first to defend them, if it comes down to it. "Fuck off, Ray, I'm not here for your bullshit."

"I'm not trying to get back with him. God no," Ray scoffs. "That's not why I'm here. There's just - unfinished shit we need to talk about. Our last conversation didn't go very well. And now that I know he broke up with Gavin, I'm even more worried he might've taken some of what I said the wrong way."

"Michael breaking up with Gav had nothing to do with you," Jeremy says, but his head's spinning now. Or did it? Is there something he doesn't know? Michael hadn't gone into the details of why he and Ray went out that day. 

"What did you mean, I shouldn't go out with him?"

Ray's lips twist into a sardonic smile.

"You ever heard that saying, if everyone you meet's an asshole, maybe you're the problem? Everywhere Michael goes there's drama. I'm not saying he does it deliberately, but things tend to escalate real quick when he's around. I'm right, aren't I?" he adds, and Jeremy looks away, not wanting the other man to catch the look on his face. "Since you started hanging around him you must've noticed it. There's always some shit going on, am I right?"

"Most of it was nothing to do with him," Jeremy grunts. "All that stuff with ACHIEVE-"

"Don't get me started on ACHIEVE," Ray says, rolling his eyes.

And thing is, usually Jeremy would jump to the collective's defence. But honestly? After everything that's gone on the last few weeks, he really doesn't think he can do it anymore. And there's something in Ray's face, a kind of gentle empathy that makes him think, _maybe he actually does understand what's going on here. More than I thought he did._

"I wasn't even in ACHIEVE but I know how it goes," Ray says. "When'd you join?"

"Not that long ago. Year and a half, maybe? Just before Gavin."

"Michael was there two years before that. And we've been friends for way longer. I could tell you some shit. Here's a thought." Ray steps forward again; this time, Jeremy doesn't move away. This time, it doesn't feel dangerous so much as conspiratorial. "You tell me why Michael and Gavin broke up. And I'll tell you why he and I broke up."

"Why would I care about that sort of gossip?" Jeremy asks, but his heart is racing suddenly; he doesn't know why. He's pretty drunk, but he feels like just breathing in Ray's presence is giving him an adrenaline rush.

"Because it's more relevant than you think. Because it's the reason I'm not going anywhere near ACHIEVE again. Because I think, after tonight, it might be something you actually, really need to hear."

There's a frozen silence. Then Ray sways backwards, puffing on his cigarette, arms folded.

"Up to you, of course," he drawls. "Otherwise I'll just hang out here until Michael comes out."

"You can't," Jeremy snaps, "You'll fuck things up for Jack."

Ray just shrugs. Like he really, genuinely just does not give a shit, and for a second breathless outrage fills Jeremy's chest. But he listens to the pounding music of the party behind him, and the noise of the drunken idiots inside, and thinks, _he's an asshole. But so's Ryan, and so's Geoff, and so are Michael and Gavin when you get down to it-_

_And what about you?_

_You chose to get involved with Michael. And you chose to come here tonight. And you chose to help Jack. What's that make you?_

He can't help it. Ray's got him on a hook here, and he can't help but be reeled in. He takes a deep breath.

"Okay," he says. "Okay, come in. But we gotta go somewhere quiet. No one can see you."

Ray spits out his cigarette, grinds it out under his heel. Jeremy half wants to tell him to pick it up and put it in the bin, but he bites his lip. He's pretty sure Ray would just stare at him blankly.

"Sure," Ray says, "Take me away."

Jeremy turns, leads him into the house. He feels all nervous and shaky again. Doesn't know where this is going. Is already second-guessing why he thought this was a good idea. But isn't that just how it goes.

 

* * *

 

 

"What's your name, anyway?"

Jeremy turns to look at Ray. It hits him, suddenly, that he knows a lot more about the other man than vice-versa. But Ray's staring at him with genuine curiosity. He hasn't taken his hood off, even though they're in the house now where it's way too warm with that particular stagnant heat that comes with too many bodies in too small a space.

"Jeremy," he says, and Ray nods.

"Jeremy," he repeats, and comes up by Jeremy's side. Upstairs, Jeremy's thinking, that's probably the best place for the two of them to talk. With any luck one of the spare bedrooms will be free. "So how'd you get involved in ACHIEVE?"

"What do you care?" Jeremy asks, automatically defensive, and Ray raises his eyebrows.

"Dude, what's your problem? You think I'm gonna use all this against you somehow? I'm not that fucking devious."

Jeremy bites his lip a little guiltily. Maybe that was at the back of his mind, but honestly? After the amount of backstabbing, scheming and literal _secret plots_ that've tied this group in knots over the last few weeks, forgive him if he isn't just gonna hand out personal information like it's Halloween candy.

"Fine, here's a different question. What do you study?" Ray asks.

"Graphic design."

"Nice. I was in media arts for a bit too. Screen and sound. Dropped out, though. Six months to go."

"That sucks," Jeremy replies, a bit awkwardly. "Personal stuff?"

A faint, humourless smile.

"I guess you could call it that. So whose side did you take, then? In the great schism."

"Geoff's," Jeremy says, tiredly, and Ray raises his eyebrows.

"Interesting."

"Why interesting?"

"'cause from what I've gathered from all my eavesdropping tonight? I figured Michael would've agreed with Ryan's take on things. Always takes the most firey route, right?" If there's a mocking note in his voice it's not quite a malicious one, but it still rubs Jeremy the wrong way.

"Michael's loyal," he says, fiercely, "He wouldn't have turned on Geoff."

"Ah." Ray clicks his tongue, far too smugly. "There's the fucking rub, am I right? Ideologically on Ryan's side. But loyal to his personal friendship with Geoff. Caught between a rock and a hard place. Are you seeing where I'm going with this, Jeremy?"

"Not really," Jeremy snaps, and Ray pauses, forcing Jeremy to stop and turn to look at him. He's way too aware, suddenly, that they're right in the middle of the living room, standing by the couch where a few people are slouched, watching some inane talent show on the TV. Anyone could look over and see him talking to Ray. Anyone could start whispering about it.

"Why'd you join ACHIEVE?" Ray repeats, something intense in it.

Jeremy hesitates. Because it's... a complicated story, now he thinks back on it. There are a hundred banal answers he could offer to get Ray off his back. _I wanted to make the world a better place. It looked like fun. I needed something for my resume._

But somehow-

Somehow, something in the way Ray's looking at him makes him think - with something a bit like dread, and something a bit like morbid curiosity - that this is bigger than both of them. That whatever answers Ray holds to questions Jeremy doesn't even know yet are gonna change the shape of this whole thing. You have to give something to get something. This isn't gonna work if he isn't open.

So he takes a shaky breath, and thinks back to the start.

"I... I was part of a really artsy group at school," he explains. "You know how it is. Not like today when everyone plays video games and goes to Comic Con. We were the nerdy group who liked superhero movies and spent lunch time drawing our own web comic. People bullied the hell out of us. We ignored them. We had our own gang."

"Know the feel," Ray says, nodding. "Except for the friends bit."

For some reason the only ridiculous thing Jeremy can think of to say in response to that rather tragic life bomb is "RIP." Ray doesn't seem to care.

"Anyway," Jeremy says. "I was super in the closet back then. I was at an all boys' school, I was a nerd and I was even shorter than I am now. Had to hold onto every scrap of masculinity I could get. So when a group of kids started a PFLAG group - I just, like, watched from the sidelines. I didn't have the guts to stand up and join them, or even just support them as an ally. I remember seeing how they had the courage to stand up for themselves and just being super jealous."

"Makes sense," Ray says, quietly, and Jeremy nods. He feels all shaky and nervous - this is way too personal to be telling a virtual stranger. He doesn't think he's even told Michael much of this. A bit about his family, but not much more.

"Anyway. That was my one big regret from high school. I came out soon after graduating and my big resolve for college was that I was gonna be more active in the community. And when I went to talk to ACHIEVE at open day, it just seemed - really bright, really open. Really easy."

"You said you'd only joined recently," Ray observes, and Jeremy nods.

"Yeah, I switched degrees and switched unis a few semesters in. So by the time I joined, Geoff and all them were already close friends. I guess I was on the fringes a bit, but I didn't mind. Had my own group of friends who joined around the same time. Matt, and Andy, and Steffie and all them. We had our own little friendship group. Most of us sided with Geoff," he adds, "Because I can draw, I sort of got in a bit closer with that side of things because he'd contact me all the time to make stuff for their fliers. So I was closer to him, but not, like, inner circle. Not until Ryan pushed us all to either side."

"And Michael?"

"Michael was the first person to properly welcome me into the group. We used to have a break from class at the same spot in our timetables so it'd be just us hanging out in the collective room a couple hours a week. We have similar interests, so we clicked. I'm closer to him than most of the others. Obviously," he adds, and Ray raises an eyebrow.

"But you're not dating."

"No," Jeremy says, so firmly that it makes Ray laugh.

"Right." He leans on the side of the couch and for a second his gaze scans across the room. Jeremy's eyes dart after his, suspicious, unsure who's around them. Miles and Kerry, asleep. Blaine, drinking somewhere in the corner. He thinks he saw Lindsay pass by earlier, but can't be sure. "So you like it?"

"It's usually good," Jeremy replies. He still has no fucking idea where they're going with this. "And we do good work. Some of our campaigns have made a concrete difference."

"You don't think it's cliquish? That main group - Geoff and Ryan and Jack. Michael. All of them. You don't think they're trouble?"

"Things were great before this Birch Bunker shit took off," Jeremy snaps. This, he'll defend, because it hasn't all been bad. And he doesn't like the smug note in Ray's voice, like he's about to pull some sort of trump card. "We've had our ups and downs, but you know what? ACHIEVE is a family. It's a family to a lot of people who haven't got support at home. Who haven't got anything else."

"Sure," Ray says, and leans in, and sneers, "Except in families people aren't usually all banging each other and breaking up. And you know what people try not to fucking bring up in families because it tears them apart? Politics."

Jeremy opens his mouth, hot anger rising up, then realises he has nothing to say. Ray laughs, bitterly.

"Go on, tell me I'm wrong. You think I talk to my parents, my grandparents, my aunties and uncles about the fucking election? About the left and the right and fucking social issues? No? Because that's the number one way to start an argument around the dinner table."

"It's not like that," Jeremy begins, weakly, and Ray shoves his hands deep in his pockets, rocks back and forth.

"You're a _political_ collective. They call this student _politics_ for a reason. Political parties ain't _families_ , Jeremy."

Jeremy looks away, jaw clenched. He's angry and he doesn't know why or at who, but one thing's for sure: he gets it now. Ray's trouble. Ray's poison. But still - when Ray leans forward and grabs his arm and jostles him, he can't bring himself to pull away.

"This fight you're all having? It's just one in a long series of dramas. But we'll get to that."

"Not sure I like what we're getting to," Jeremy mutters, but sighs. He starts to lead Ray upstairs again, only to freeze when a familiar, very bright pink shirt catches his eye.

Gavin's just leaving the kitchen. He looks dazed, is carrying a plate with a pile of toast on it - and he's headed for the stairs. Jeremy frantically grabs Ray and shoves him back.

"Whoah, whoah, what'd I do?" Ray protests.

"Shut up!" Jeremy hisses, and bundles him towards the nearest door; the walk-in linen closet. "Stay here a sec!"

"Why?"

"Gavin can't fucking see you," Jeremy snaps. Ray's eyes widen - then he bursts out laughing. Jeremy slaps a hand over his mouth and shoves him into the cupboard. "Shut up you dick, I'm serious. Jack's trying to fix things with him and if he knows you're here you'll probably leave."

"Oh my God," Ray says, voice muffled under Jeremy's palm.

"I'm _serious,_ " Jeremy repeats, furiously - the amused glint in Ray's eyes is pissing him the fuck off. Ray's fingers curl around his wrist - the two of them both turn, and through the shutters of the cupboard door Jeremy sees Gavin pause at the bottom of the stairs, turning to talk to someone. He can't tell who it is; it might be Blaine, he thinks, checking in on him. He was on Ryan's side, so he's not ignoring Gavin like a lot of people are. God, this is a mess.

He slowly lowers his hand, hoping Ray won't be an idiot and fuck this up.

"I'll get him out of here," he whispers. "Stay here until I come get you."

"God, what is this, a fucking spy movie?" Ray's eyes are fixed over Jeremy's shoulder, watching Gavin. "Poor dude. He looks wiped. Can't believe he and Michael broke up."

"Is this all a big fucking joke to you?" Jeremy hisses, and Ray raises his eyebrows, his smirk fading.

"No," he breathes, "No, actually, it's not. You said Jack's trying to orchestrate, what, for them to get back together? You think that's likely?"

"I don't know," Jeremy admits, but Ray's shaking his head.

"Jack's in too deep. You all are. It's not his job to try and fix all this."

"That's what I told him," Jeremy cries, "But there's no stopping him. We're all friends. He just wants things to go back to how they were. But if there's one person who can do it, it's him."

"Yeah, but the thing is, it's not his responsibility," Ray says, and while his tone is gruff, there's an undercurrent of sympathy in it. "Here's another saying for you: don't set yourself on fire to keep others warm. I don't know Jack all that well, but when I ran into him before? He was freaking the fuck out about me showing up here. He was, like, full on nearly panicking. That's not healthy. You agree, right?"

Jeremy can only nod, mutely, and Ray huffs out a sigh.

"That's what he's doing, Jeremy. Setting himself on fire. And he's gonna burn out sooner or later. Because even if he does fix all this? It won't be the last drama. How much do you think he can take?"

"Don't say that," Jeremy whispers, filled with a sudden dread. There's just - something so bleak in it. As bad as things haven't gotten, lately, he's never felt hopeless. But the look in Ray's eyes - it's pure, cynical certainty.

After a moment, Ray just shrugs.

"But what do I know," he says, flatly. "It's his house. His party. His big idea."

"I'm gonna go talk to Gav," Jeremy says. He doesn't like being stuck in here, so close to Ray that he can smell tobacco and weed, can practically feel the warmth radiating from his body. Ray just shrugs, and Jeremy slips out before he can second guess himself.

Blaine's leaving, and Gavin's about to head upstairs again. Jeremy hurries forward and quickly catches his elbow.

"Gavin!" he says, and sees the surprise on the other man's face as he turns.

Honestly? Jeremy was pretty worried when Gavin ran off before. He'd known things wouldn't go down prettily when he and Michael finally saw each other again, but even he hadn't been able to predict just how messy it'd be. And he certainly hadn’t expected Gavin to walk in on the two of them. He still feels vaguely guilty about that.

It's not like Gavin owns Michael. It's not like they were actually doing anything wrong. And he's spent a hell of a lot of time the last few weeks being pretty pissed off both at how Gavin turned on Geoff as well as how he treated Michael. Slammed the door in his face, wouldn't call him back, refused to listen to reason. His loss, Jeremy had figured. His fucking loss.

But it was hard not to feel bad at the sheer pain on his face. The torn look that'd made it pretty fucking clear that he's still not over Michael.

Jeremy's... not quite sure what to do with this.

One thing's for sure. Right now Gavin isn't some scheming henchman of Ryan's or a possessive ex-boyfriend. Right now he's just a tired, sad kid, same as the rest of them. They've never known each other well enough to be close, but the last thing Jeremy wants to do tonight is hurt him.

Especially given some of the things Michael spilled to him that probably should've stayed private. Like how fucked up Gavin's family is, how he was too deep in the closet for way too long, and how he'd freak out sometimes when they were dating over random shit, like a phone call from his Mum, or holding hands just a little too long in too crowded an area. How weird he got about religion.

They're all messed up in their own way. But Jeremy knows he got lucky with his own parents. 

"Hey," he says, and Gavin's eyes widen.

"Hey," he says, and Jeremy realises perhaps a little too late that he's probably the last person Gavin wants to talk to right now. He can see that the other man's eyes are red-rimmed like he's been crying, and bites his lip, unsure if he's intruding - but he needs to get him out of this area, and he moves up a the steps a little way so he's on level with the other man.

"You okay?" he asks - and he genuinely is concerned - but Gavin just gives a sheepish little smile, eyes dropping to the plate of toast he's holding.

"A lot of people are asking me that tonight," he says, quietly. "I really must look like shit, huh?"

"What? That's not what I meant," Jeremy starts, but is relieved when Gavin scoffs out something like a laugh.

"I'm fine, Jeremy. Thanks for checking in. Where's your other half?"

"What?"

"Michael." The name chokes out of him, a bit pained. "I mean Michael, of course."

Jeremy stares at him for a moment. And God, he should not get involved in this, he should not get fucking involved in this-

But his mouth is apparently just on a fucking mission of its own, and he takes a breath and hears himself say, "You know we're not together, right?"

Gavin freezes. Hesitates. Looks at him for a long moment. His eyes are so tired and bloodshot that Jeremy just sort of wants to make him a cup of warm milk and tuck him into a bed somewhere.

"You guys were kissing," he murmurs, and Jeremy shakes his head.

"Let's call it friends with benefits. I'm not interested in dating him. I’m serious. Same as, I'm guessing, you're not interested in dating Ryan."

Gavin's breath catches. When Jeremy takes him by the arm and starts to lead him down the stairs, he follows numbly. They make it to the couch and Jeremy sits him down. He's too aware of the linen cupboard behind them - that Ray probably has a direct line of sight to where they are. He sits Gavin down and watches him start to numbly eat his toast while he himself sits perched on the arm of the couch.

"Thought you were leaving when you walked out," he says, and Gavin glances up and scoffs out a laugh.

"Yeah, well. Plans change. Didn't really feel like walking home in the cold. It's gonna rain, you know."

"How'd you figure that?"

"I can smell it." Gavin taps the side of his nose and Jeremy snorts out a genuine laugh.

"Yeah? If anyone at this party could it'd be you."

"Oi!" Gavin cries, and Jeremy properly laughs this time, and for a second-

For just a second, it's nice. It reminds him of the old times when he and Gavin and Michael and Lindsay and a bunch of the other younger members of ACHIEVE would spend hysterical all-nighters organising stuff for their various campaigns. God, Gavin had seemed so different back then. Goofy and carefree and so, so innocent. He was like a little ray of sunshine, glued to Michael’s side, the two of them always perfectly in-sync. They’d had a lot of laughs together, done a lot of teasing. The two of them would work on art together sometimes. 

They’re not on the same side anymore. But Jeremy suddenly feels very sorry for him, and how everything played out. He knows Gavin was close to Geoff - real, real fucking close - and wonders, not for the first time, exactly what went down between them.

“You sticking around, then?”

“I’m having a very late breakfast, lunch and dinner all at once,” Gavin mutters, and Jeremy gives him a horrified look. “Don’t start. I said I’m fine. Then I’ll probably crash. Or maybe just, like, hide in the garage for a while. It’s a bit noisy in here.”  
  
“Don’t go in there,” Jeremy says, too quickly. Gavin’s head snaps up.

“Why?”  
  
_What are you doing?_ He’s no mastermind. He’s no Jack. He’s probably just gonna fuck everything up and make things worse. But he can feel Ray’s gaze on him, thinks of what he said - _how much do you think he can take? -_ is hit, suddenly, with the resentful need to prove him wrong, to show that they can actually get through this.

“Michael’s in there,” he says, slowly, and watches the look on Gavin’s face. A flash of pain, a hesitant sort of hope - covered quickly by a guarded mask.

“I see,” he says, in a carefully measured voice. “And he doesn’t want to see me?”

“I was more worried _you_ don’t wanna see _him_ ,” he says, and Gavin looks down. Jeremy reaches out, on impulse, and squeezes his shoulder. “Gav…”  
  
“What?” Gavin snaps, but Jeremy knows enough to not take it personally.

“Look, I know you and I aren’t close. I don’t know if you even wanna hear this from me. But I’ve spent a lot of time with Michael lately, and he… he misses you. I know he does. I think he just - wants you to hear him out. Just give him a chance to explain himself.”  
  
“What, he wants to get back together?” Gavin asks. His voice is wound tight and he won’t look up. Jeremy doesn’t answer, and after a lingering pause Gavin sucks in a breath and adds, softer, “We… we never really hashed things out after the break up. Jack wants me to talk to him too.”  
  
“Is that what _you_ want?” Jeremy offers, and he sees Gavin’s grip tighten on the plate.

“I don’t know,” he says, voice soft and broken. “But… I miss him too.”  
  
Jeremy squeezes his shoulder, rubs his arm soothingly.

“I think it might be a good idea,” he whispers. “But you have time to think about it. I’m sure Jack will come and find you soon. Just - keep it in mind, yeah?”  
  
Gavin nods, brows furrowed thoughtfully. Jeremy looks up and spots Barbara coming in the back door. He waves her over - her eyes widen when she spots Gavin, and she comes jogging over. Jeremy claps Gavin on the shoulder and gets up; she’ll take care of him, talk him through whatever it is that’s going through his head. Gavin looks up as he leaves and gives a weak, distracted smile, and Jeremy feels something settle in him that he didn’t even realise was out of place.

There’s a lot of people at this party tonight that things are awkward with. More than he realised at the time. People like Meg, and Lindsay, and Mica - people he never had a problem with before, that he considered _friends_ , but there’s a sting of betrayal he can’t shake off.

He goes back to the cupboard and hustles Ray out and up the stairs before Gavin can spot them. They’re just reaching the top when Ray finally speaks.

“Playing matchmaker?”

There’s something almost disapproving in it. Jeremy’s fists clench.

“Michael misses him. He misses Michael. Seems a good enough reason for them to at least talk.”  
  
Ray gives a disbelieving hum, but honestly? Given his own fucking involvement in the situation, he’s the last person Jeremy’s about to listen to, and he steadfastly ignores him as he leads him further into the house.

 

* * *

 

The spare bedroom at the end of the upstairs hallway is empty and dark. Jeremy switches on the light, ushering Ray inside, and hears him let out a low chuckle.

"Someone's been busy," Ray says, waggling his eyebrows. Jeremy turns and grimaces at the sight of the rumpled bed sheets.

"Well, it is a party," he points out, but screws up his face. _Poor Jack. No wonder he usually hates events like this. You should offer to help clean up later._

Ray wanders over to the nearby desk and throws himself into the chair, spinning aimlessly. Jeremy shuts the door and pauses, closing his eyes and taking a moment just to breathe. He checks his phone, but Michael's finally stopped messaging him. Jeremy wonders if he's still out in the garage. What went down. What Jack's doing now.

Where, after tonight is over, he's gonna fit in with all this.

He thinks of Gavin, downstairs on the couch, looking too thin and sad and tired. The two of them getting back together would, objectively, be a good thing. One bridge rebuilt. It'd probably set Jeremy up well to get Gavin back on Geoff's side. But he's thinking like Jack, now, and he's starting to realise how dangerous that is.

He takes a deep breath and turns just in time to see Ray fishing a little plastic bag from his pocket.

"Want some?" he offers, getting ready to roll a joint. Jeremy charges over and snatches it.

"Seriously, dude?" he snaps.

"What?"

"You're not smoking in here!"

"Fine," Ray grunts, "But give that back. It's expensive." He grabs his weed back and sighs as he puts it away. "As if you're not drunk as hell anyway."

"It's been a long night," Jeremy protests. The cold weather and the stress have sobered him up uncomfortably. He sits on the edge of the bed and they stare at each other for a moment. Jeremy wonders what he looks like through Ray's eyes. How he comes off compared to the others in ACHIEVE. But before either of them can talk, a quiet drumming starts up at the windows, growing steadily more intense.

"It's raining," Jeremy says. He can hear it rattling against the glass panes and the roof just above them. That's gonna keep people here longer. Most aren't in a condition to drive home and no one will want to walk in this bad weather. Still. Right now it just makes Jeremy feel tired.

Ray pulls his legs up onto the chair, still swinging it idly back and forth.

"You live on campus?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Nice," Ray nods. "Michael and I used to."

Jeremy leans forward. _Okay. So he's going first, then._ He watches as Ray fiddles with his lighter, flicking it on and off, and is about to impatiently urge him on when he sees  the look on the other man's face - a sort of sad, strained frown - and thinks better of it.

"I've actually never really talked about this before," Ray admits finally, with a huffed laugh. "Hard to believe, right? And you know, I'm over it. Like I said, I have no desire to get back together with him. But we used to be close. Really close. I still miss that, sometimes."

"Take your time," Jeremy whispers.

Ray looks up. His smile is tight and doesn't reach his eyes.

"It didn't have to be messy, you know," he mutters. "Maybe we could've realised it wasn't working out and gone back to being mates. But nothing's ever that simple with him. I'm honestly surprised he stayed out of this ACHIEVE nonsense. Usually he's the first one to jump in the middle of a fight."

"Maybe he learned better," Jeremy offers.

"Maybe." Ray shrugs. "But still. Michael's problem is that he doesn't know when to leave something alone. And sometimes, I... I like that about him. He's passionate and determined and willing to jump into battle at a second's notice. It's probably what makes him such a good advocate."

Jeremy nods. He can agree with that.

"But life's not one big battle," Ray continues. "You must've noticed by now. Michael attracts drama like a magnet. He shoves his way into other people's business, takes sides and starts fighting without ever stopping to think. I can't tell you how many times he was at odds with someone in his friend group over something. Or in some sort of feud with his tutors and classmates. Or entangled in shit at work. He worked at a greengrocer for three years! How much drama do you think there can be at a fucking greengrocer? _You'd be surprised!"_

Jeremy laughs, but a moment later Ray lets out a long breath.

"He doesn't know when to stop pushing," he says. "So he ends up in the middle of a lot of shit."

Jeremy has to nod. Honestly? He's noticed it too, and he realises with a sinking feeling that Ray's right. He is surprised that Michael stayed out of the Geoff and Ryan situation. And even since the two of them started hanging out more? It's constant drama. It seems like every time they talk Michael's up in arms about _something,_ whether it's his family or classmates or co-workers, or gossip he's heard from someone else. 

It makes him a great person to vent to. It's why Jeremy got closer with him lately. But even he doesn't wanna be around it twenty-four seven.

And even now... he thinks of how Michael got together with him, in one frantic, ill-thought-out impulse decision. How he insisted on coming here tonight even though he knew Gavin was invited, knew that it was gonna be one big fuckfest with all of ACHIEVE there. And how he jumped the gun yelling at Gavin about Ryan instead of showing a little tact.

There's a lot he likes about Michael. His earnestness is endearing. He can be intensely protective of, his friends. He's brave, and passionate, and speaks his mind. But he's not perfect - no one is.

"Look, I like Michael," Ray continues. "We were really good friends. He stuck by me through thick and thin. But breaking up with someone you're so close to? It's big and messy and I... I know it hurt him a lot. That's where things get complicated."

"So what happened?" Jeremy asks, quietly.

Ray gets up and Jeremy's surprised when he moves to sit cross-legged next to him on the bed. He takes a deep breath, staring down at his hands in his lap. No snide comments now, no smirks and sneers.

"Let's go back to the start."

 

* * *

 

From ages zero through sixteen Ray’s really not close to anyone. That’s just how it is.

He’s a quiet kid who moves schools a lot because of his parents’ work. He doesn’t like to speak in class, keeps to himself on the playground, and prefers to go straight home to play Xbox than spend any length of time socialising with his peers. So as for friends? He doesn’t need them, and quite frankly, he doesn’t particularly want them, either.

It sounds fucking depressing if he says it out loud. But honestly? Ray’s not even that lonely.

There’s a certain level of introvert where you’d rather just get things done yourself than have to endure the exhaustion of interacting with others, the give-and-take of maintaining a _conversation_ let alone a friendship, the social obligation of devoting a certain amount of time to someone else.

And it’s not like he’s ever known anything else.

So he’s perfectly happy to be alone, unimpeded by such things as _group work_ or _collaboration_. He enjoys eating his lunch in a quiet corner of the library with his earphones in, and he doesn’t feel the need for any more friends than his online gaming group.

As for his family?

His mother works all day and his father works all night. He can’t remember the last time the three of them sat around the dinner table together. They’re brusque, abrupt, distant, and have been as long as he can remember. There was a nanny, when he was younger, who taught him to read and played games with him and gave him baths, and who kissed him at night before he went to sleep, but she left the day after he turned ten years old and he hasn’t seen her since.

There’s always food on the table, the electricity bill gets paid, if he tells them he needs money for a school thing they leave it in an envelope in the bowl where they keep the house keys.

But he wouldn’t go to them in a crisis. He doesn’t talk about his grades or his friends or his interests. And the thing is, he doesn’t know why. He hasn’t ever questioned it. That’s just how his family _is_. He doesn’t know how his parents met or why they’re still together or what they _want_ in life. His father likes to watch the football and his mum likes to go and play cards down at the pub. On birthdays they give each other cash and gift cards.

His house is like a church; filled with a hush you don’t break. Or like a library, clinically efficient with few words spoken. Or perhaps like a graveyard: serene, every conversation lingering like ghosts for hours after it ends.

But Ray’s a boy of few words anyway, and he likes to put his headphones on and disappear off into his own world with the door to his room shut, and he thinks very little of it.

 

* * *

 

It’s when Ray hits high school that he just, like, starts fully giving up on school.

It’s not like it’s a deliberate decision, just a sort of slow fade from doing his homework every night to not bothering. Because it’s not like he wants to go to uni, anyway. His main ambition is to work enough of a dead-end job that he can fund his hobbies (video games). And it’s not like his parents really check his report cards. When his teachers call home about missed assignments, there’s never anyone there to answer.

So he stops putting much effort in. He listens in class, but doesn’t bother studying, and manages to scrape through most of his exams - failing some, barely passing others. The other kids bully him, sometimes; not _badly_ , a snide comment here, a shove into the lockers there, and no one ever tries to befriend him, but he likes to think it slides off his back. They don’t seem to go out of their way to target him, but if they cross paths he’s used to being called _weirdo, loner, freak_. It’s just one other reason to avoid most of his classmates.

The summer holidays hit, and some days he doesn’t even bother getting up; all he wants to do is sleep. Dirty clothes accumulate on his bedroom floor.

He can feel himself slipping into a sort of vacant daze where every day blurs together and he’s either staying up way too late at night playing games until his vision swims, or spending most of his time quite literally just passed out. Sometimes the thought of dropping out vaguely appeals to him - that’s _some_ sort of action taken, right? Some sort of decision made? - but he realises he doesn’t have the first idea _how_ to actually go about doing it, and he doesn’t really know how to bring it up with his parents.

And into the middle of this brain-dead, empty cycle comes Michael.

He crashes into their school like a cyclone on the first day of their junior year of high school. Ray’s slouching at the back of the room, exhausted and distracted as usual - but he does look up, because _everyone’s_ curious about the new kid, and Ray hopes he’s not gonna just be another, worse sort of bully.

Honestly? At first he’s kinda worried, because Michael looks rough - he’s wearing this super cool, beat-up leather jacket, and his brows are furrowed deeply, his eyes glittering and intense like he’s ready to fucking fight someone, and when he introduces himself - “ _Sup_ , I’m Michael, I moved here from New Jersey,” - he has an accent like all the gangsters in old movies.

He’s also standing in a way that can only be described as _hulking_ , arms hanging by his sides and hands curled into loose fists. It’d be intimidating, but Michael’s, like, shorter than he is, with _very_ curly hair and a face stricken with an unholy combination of acne and psoriasis. Ray vaguely files him away as _probably not a threat but better avoid him just to be on the safe side_ and goes back to scribbling idly in the back of his school planner.

“Thank you, Michael!” their home-room teacher chirps, with more enthusiasm than any human should reasonably have at eight thirty in the morning. “Please find somewhere to sit.”  
  
Michael’s eyes sweep over the room. Ray looks back up just in time to see them land on him. His grip on his pen tightens.

_Please no, please no, please no…_

Too late. Michael trudges to the back of the room, throws his backpack in the corner and sits down next to Ray, who turns his head away, his heart beating way too fast. He’s too conscious of Michael’s gaze on him, and tenses when - as the teacher moves on to the daily announcements - the new boy leans in.

“Hey,” he grunts.

“What?” Ray says, perhaps a bit too curtly. But Michael just jerks his head in the direction of Ray’s laptop.

“You play Halo?” he asks, and Ray’s eyes widen as he remembers the stickers on his laptop cover. He nods, a bit shyly, and Michael rocks back in his chair.

“Sweet. I do too. We’re friends now.”  
  
Ray can only really sort of gape at him. But that’s where it starts - Michael ignores the SRC rep the teacher assigns to show him around in favour of tagging along beside Ray instead, following him to all his classes, sitting in the back corner with him, doggedly pestering him with questions.

Ray really has no fucking idea what to do about this. He’s never really had friends before, and he has no clue what Michael sees in him apart from their shared interest in video games. Not to mention he _hates_ talking in class, because it tends to draw unwanted attention from the teacher.

But Michael just will not fucking give up, even if it takes him his entire first day just to coax Ray’s name out of him.

“What’s this school like?” he demands at lunch, where he has followed Ray to his private spot around the back of the demountables where no one can bother them.

“It’s shit,” Ray says flatly, “I hate it.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“The teachers suck and the students are annoying,” Ray replies, eloquently. Michael watches him and vigorously chews his sandwich.

“They pick on you?” he demands presently, and Ray stares at him before looking away. He’s embarrassed suddenly, and doesn’t know why, and wishes Michael would just fuck off and leave him alone. Everything was fine before he decided to just invade Ray’s life without even asking permission.

“No,” he lies, and Michael just stares at him a moment longer and then shrugs.

Undeterred by his new ‘friend’s’ silence, he proceeds to spend most of the time filling the quiet with his own stories. And even Ray has to admit, they’re not all awful. Seems like all sorts of bizarre things happened at his old school, ranging from ridiculous acts of vandalism to fist fights to drug deals to a (as it turns out, empty) bomb threat. Michael seems to know every detail of it, not to mention the sheer amount of gossip and relationship drama he’s involved in. He’s a good storyteller and Ray’s not used to being told _anything_ , and it’s kind of nice to have someone to hang out with.

By the end of the day he’s worked up the nerve to at least ask Michael why he moved here.

“Parents split up,” Michael grunts. “Mum’s got relatives here. I’m apparently gonna fly back to see Dad every second weekend.”

“That sucks,” Ray replies. He’s so awkward that he has no idea how to react. Michael doesn’t look like he’s about to cry or anything, but his brows are all furrowed. “Sorry.”  
  
“Kinda a relief, to be honest,” Michael replies, but doesn’t go into it any more, and Ray’s not about to push when they’ve known each other less than twenty-four hours.

So apparently he has a friend now.

Because Michael starts texting him, and as Ray warms up, it turns out it actually is nice to have someone to talk to now and then, even if it’s mostly just about banal shit like movies and video games and how much they hate their various subjects at school. Michael’s funny and fiery and doesn’t seem to give a fuck about anything or anyone, which is an attitude that Ray can definitely appreciate.

It’s weird to say they _click_ , but that’s exactly what happens. Ray’s usually so shy it’s a pain to talk to anyone, but with Michael it’s easy; he finds he has a lot to say because of their common interests, but even when he doesn’t, Michael’s more than capable of filling the silence on his own.

So suddenly he has someone to eat lunch with. To go out with on the weekends. To sit next to on the bus on school trips, or be his lab partner, and he doesn’t have to awkwardly try to look invisible when the teacher asks them to get into pairs. He actually looks forward to going to school now instead of skipping half the time like he used to.

Michael must realise after the first three times he texts Ray for help with homework that he, well, just does not fucking do it. He brings it up one weekend when they’re lying around in the local park, having kicked a ball around for a while and then discussed how likely either of them would be to survive the zombie apocalypse (with all the enthusiasm, of course, of sixteen year boys who have vastly overestimated both their athletic abilities and the types of weaponry they’d have access to).

“You really don’t give a shit about school, do you?” Michael asks, after having attempted to bring up their latest English assignment only to be met with an apathetic grunt.  
  
“Hm?” Ray replies. He’s chewing a piece of grass - which kind of just tastes like it smells - and his mind was vaguely drifting to the question of how people go about finding someone to sell them weed. In his imagination it happens in car parks but he isn’t quite sure where or when.

“I said you don’t care about school. You never hand anything in. Your grades must be _shit_.”  
  
“I’m not failing _everything,”_ Ray says, but not even defensively, because it’s true. It’s not even really a sore spot, and it’s not like Michael sounds condescending. Just sort of curious. “I’m passing IT. Any idiot can use a spreadsheet.”  
  
“But don’t your parents care?”  
  
Ray shakes his head. He spits out the grass; he’s starting to feel a bit like a cow chewing its cud.

“They seriously don’t give a fuck.”  
  
“And you don’t, either?” Michael asks. His eyes are all huge and blazingly earnest. Sometimes Ray still gets a bit shy about looking him directly in the face; he doesn’t know why. After all, he catches Michael staring at him all the time.

“No?” he offers, and something flickers in Michael’s eyes. He can’t quite figure it out - or why, for the first time, he almost feels like he’s disappointed someone. “Why should I?”  
  
“Well, what do you want to do after you graduate?”  
  
If _I graduate,_ Ray thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud.

“Dunno. Probably end up working retail somewhere. Earn enough to get by.”

“Are you serious?” Michael asks - Ray just looks at him, and after a moment Michael crawls closer to him, across the sunny grass. He tries not to stiffen when his friend flops down next to him, their shoulders brushing. He doesn’t know how to deal with this; he’s not tactile, never has been, never had anyone to _be_ with. “Dude. You’ve got, like, no fucking ambition.”  
  
“What’s wrong with that?” he snaps - _now_ he’s defensive. There’s something different about this. It’s Michael - Michael, his best friend, the one person in the world he actually _wants_ to be around. Michael, the first person to even care.

“‘ _cause_. You can do better than that. You don’t try hard, but you’re smart.”  
  
“No, I’m not.”  
  
“You _are_. You build all that cool shit in Minecraft, you’re super fucking strategic, and when we work together in class - when you actually put your mind to it, you’re probably smarter than I am. Plus you’re sharp and funny - you shouldn’t waste your life in some dead-end job.”  
  
Ray looks away. His chest feels all tight and his face is hot and flushed. He reaches for his sunglasses and puts them on just so Michael can’t look him in the eye.

“Building shit in Minecraft is hardly something I can get paid to do.”  
  
“Still. You’re creative. Surely there’s _something_ you’d be happier doing.”  
  
Ray looks away. He doesn’t like where this is going, how personal it’s getting. Doesn’t like how ashamed he suddenly feels, that he honestly _doesn’t_ have a proper vision of the future beyond not having to go to school any more and spending life in his usual routine of sleeping too much then staying up too late. And he doesn’t know how to put that feeling into words that Michael can understand - that the days still just blur into one another, that he feels tired all the time. Or that a lot of the time he barely feels at all.

“What do your parents do?” Michael asks, and Ray blinks a few times.

“I don’t know.”  
  
“The fuck?” Michael sits up, pulling a face at him, and Ray feels his cheeks flush again. “How the hell can you not _know_ what they do? Do they just vanish for half the day and then return? Are you not remotely curious where they disappear to? Or are they, like, spies or something.”  
  
“Don’t be an idiot. They’re not spies. I mean I know the companies they work for but I don’t know what they specifically _do_ there.”  
  
Michael rolls his eyes, and Ray feels embarrassed in a way he doesn’t like.

“We don’t talk much,” he adds, petulantly. He wants to get up and walk away, but a second later Michael reaches out and touches his arm, and the contact sends a funny, buzzing thrill through his whole body.

“I’m gonna go to UAC,” Michael informs him. “I wanna do electrical engineering. My uncle back in New Jersey runs a company for that sort of thing and it always seemed like fun.”  
  
“You’ll be good at that,” Ray grunts. He means it - Michael’s good at maths and physics. Ray, on the other hand, dropped every science-related subject except bio after year ten.

“You’re my only fucking friend in this damn city, Ray. I want you to come to college with me.” Michael nudges him with one elbow. “Later today we’re gonna go online and look up some courses and find one you like.”  
  
“Noooo,” Ray groans.

“Yeees,” Michael mimics, and reaches out, fussing over him, brushing grass from his hair and his clothes. “God, I’m like your fucking mum. Gotta do everything for you.”

“No one asked you to,” Ray complains, but his heart’s beating faster and even if he’ll never admit it - Michael sounds so _sure_ that they can make this work out. It’s new - someone looking out for him, trying to _push_ him, to make him do better. 

He doesn’t hate it.

 

* * *

 

Thing is, once he shakes off the stigma of being the new kid, Michael’s actually pretty fucking popular.

It’d be hard for him not to be, Ray thinks sometimes, with a grudging almost-envy. After all, he’s outgoing and confident. He’s smart. He’s funny. He doesn’t take shit from anyone. And although he’s got all the same oily, sweaty, greasy problems as any other teenage boy going through puberty, he’s better looking than most of the boys in their year.

It’s _charisma_ , that’s what it is. It practically fucking radiates off him. And once he settles in - although he never joins any of the typical sports teams - he does start getting involved in a bunch of extra-curricular stuff.

It starts with debating. Then Mock Trial, then the Mathletics team, then he auditions for the school play.

“Seriously, dude?” Ray asks, when Michael asks him one lunchtime if he’s interested in joining any of those things. “I have no desire to stay at school a second longer than I need to. Also, debating? Really?”  
  
“I like to argue,” Michael says - which is, in fact, incredibly true; Ray doesn’t think a day goes by in English without him getting in some sort of fight with someone about their interpretation of _Hamlet_. Ray never expected their class to be divided down the middle about a Marxist reading of Shakespeare, but Michael somehow fucking managed to instigate that fight.

“What else you like to do, sing and dance in front of the whole school?”  
  
“I actually really love acting,” Michael says. “And Mock Trial is a combination of those two things, so.”  
  
“Well, you can count me out. My Xbox awaits,” Ray says, and Michael looks pained, but doesn’t argue.

Later comes the environmental committee - which, really? Ray hadn’t ever realised Michael was remotely concerned about the fate of the planet - and then the social justice club, which mostly just takes groups of students to visit the nursing home across the street.

Then comes the LGBT+ collective. Ray doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the day Michael admits to that new afterschool activity - with downcast eyes and a thick, rattling, almost angry note in his voice. Like he’s daring Ray to judge him.

“That’s cool. Didn’t know you were gay,” is all he says, with eyebrows raised.

Something relaxes in Michael’s shoulders.

“Pan, actually. Did… did you want to come?” For once in his life he looks young and vulnerable. “It’s for allies, too. We mostly just arrange awareness campaigns and watch movies and stuff.”  
  
“I’m bi,” Ray says. It slips out before he can stop it, and he sees the way Michael’s eyes widen a little. He’s… oddly not nervous, even if he’s never come out to anyone before. He’s never really _had_ to. Now they’re both being so awkward that it’s just super fucking anticlimactic. “But I think I’m good. Have fun, though.”  
  
“You’re sure you don’t want to come?” Michael asks quietly. “It can be nice to have a support group.”  
  
_I don’t need one. I have you,_ Ray thinks. At this point in time, being an emotionally constipated teenage boy, he can’t tell that _Michael_ is probably the one who wants the support - who wants a friend to walk in by his side before outing himself at his new school - but he walks away and doesn’t think much of it.

And so there he is, on the sidelines as Michael gets involved in everything under the sun. And honestly? It’s not actually so bad.

Any lingering resentment he might’ve had about losing his new friend fades when he realises that he’s still the one that Michael sits with at lunch, just the two of them on the ground behind the demountables. He’s still the one that Michael plays Xbox with at night, and who hangs out with him at the shops on the weekend, and they do all their homework together (Ray suspects mostly because Michael’s just determined to _get him to do it_ ).

He’s doing better, even if he can’t quite see the big picture yet. But his attendance is nearly perfect, and he hands in completed assignments, and he applies to three different college courses, and he doesn’t spend all weekend sleeping. He feels like he has more energy, like he can see further into the future than just his next meal or nap or Call of Duty match.

Michael seems to find himself embroiled in a hell of a lot of drama, because everyone on the debating team, the LGBT+ collective and involved in the school musical seem to date solely within their own friendship circles. Now and then Michael dates too - sometimes boys, sometimes girls, sometimes openly, sometimes flying under the radar - but he always has _some_ sort of gossip to tell Ray. Someone flirting with someone else’s sibling, people cheating on each other, impending break-ups, love triangles. He knows it all, and half the time he’s involved somehow, or caught between his loyalty to different people.

Ray listens with fond amusement. It’s the sort of shit he’s glad he’s not involved in, but he likes being in the know. Makes him feel like less of a social pariah.

The only time the two of them get all personal is one night when they’re taking the train back from seeing a movie in the city. Michael’s spent the last half hour complaining about the kid on the chess team he just broke up with - another three-week-long relationship that ended because the guy was apparently just ‘experimenting’ - and he turns and stares at Ray for a long time, speculatively.

“What?” Ray demands, and Michael swallows.

“You don’t gotta answer if it’s too personal,” he says, “But are you out to your parents?”  
  
It hits Ray they’ve never really talked about it. He shakes his head.

“Nah.”  
  
“How do you think they’d take it?”  
  
“I… don’t know.” He’s never thought about this before, and even just dwelling on it too long is like - like trying to wrap his head around a black hole. “We just… don’t ever talk about stuff like that. I don’t really know their political views. They’re definitely not religious.”  
  
“I don’t get it,” Michael says - and there’s something almost pitying in his voice that leaves Ray with a pit in his stomach. “How can you not know something that important about your parents?”  
  
“We just never talk!” He throws his hands up. “It’s always been that way. It’s just how we _are_. They don’t give a shit what I do as long as I’m not getting in too much trouble. They’ve never shown the remotest interest in who I date, so. Might as well just continue not telling them.”  
  
Michael’s silent for a long moment, processing this. Ray chews his lip.

See, he’s known since he was old enough to understand what he was watching on TV that his relationship with his parents isn’t exactly _normal_. But it’s not like they hit him or starve him or anything, so. It’s fine. It’s just how it is.

“But do you ever wish you were closer?” Michael asks softly, and Ray shakes his head, but there’s a lump in his throat, and he angrily swallows it away. Sometimes, sure, he wonders what they think about him. What he looks like through their eyes. If they even care at all. But there’s a reason he doesn’t think about this shit; it’s pointless. It’s not like he could change anything.

“No.”

Michael looks like he doesn’t believe him, and Ray squeezes his eyes shut. After a moment he feels Michael shift closer on the train seat. Feels his warmth against his side and his arm wrap around his shoulders. He sits stiffly, unsure of himself. He’s never quite known what to do with human contact.

But at the back of his head - it’s nice, to know that there’s one person who has his back. One person he can trust and turn to. They ride the rest of the trip in silence, but somehow - even if the conversation didn’t really go anywhere - Ray feels suddenly much closer to Michael after all that.

 

* * *

 

Here Ray pauses and looks up at Jeremy, who’s sitting staring at him with rapt attention. The sudden silence makes him shiver and blink a few times, looking up to met Ray’s dark eyes.

“You okay?” he asks, quietly.

Even if they’re not remotely close to the break up… the backstory’s still drawn him in. It’s funny; his friends don’t talk about high school all that much, which is perhaps strange given how much it shaped his own experience and reasons for joining ACHIEVE.

But still. It’s a different side to Michael, a side that actually fills in a lot of gaps; brash, passionate. The new kid on the block setting out to prove his worth. And to some extent, Michael’s always been like Jack, hasn’t he? Shoving his way into any problem he thinks needs fixing and whipping out a hammer to get started with.

He hadn’t known Michael’s parents were divorced.

“Yeah,” Ray says, and shakes himself. “You close to your family?”  
  
“I am,” Jeremy admits - he knows he has nothing to feel guilty about, but still… Ray’s small, tight smile shoots a pang through him. “I got lucky. They’re very liberal, very accepting…. what?”  
  
Ray’s looking at him strangely.

“That’s what Michael always says when someone asks him how he came out. _I got lucky_. But you know,” he says, with another humourless smile, “I know him better than anyone. I know him well enough to tell when he’s lying.”  
  
Jeremy stares at him - but after a second Ray looks down again.

“Anyway,” he says, “Let’s get to the good bits.”

 

* * *

 

Fast forward through the fuckfest of final exams, the whirlwind of graduation, the massive drama that is prom (Ray doesn’t go, of course, but Michael does, and then reports back on the myriad of fights, hook ups, _break_ ups and other assorted incidents), and next thing he knows they’re at UAC.

They both got into their first choices. Ray’s surprisingly emotional when he gets the email; going to college was never even on his _radar_ , and he knows the only reason he got in at all was because of Michael forcing him to put his nose to the grindstone and actually do his school work for once. He doesn’t know how he can even begin to thank him for something like that.

They apply to be roommates, of course, and thus begins their college career. At first it’s all very novel, and living together is the _bomb_ ; they cook a lot of terrible meals and Ray takes on more hours at work because his course load is way lighter, and they have a great arrangement where he pays for most things and Michael does all the cleaning and organising so that they’re not living in complete squalor.

Semester one is really, really good. Semester two is okay; it’s where things start to waver. He doesn’t know what causes it, just - out of the blue, with the novelty of being out of school wearing off, his motivation starts dropping. He starts skipping class, leaving assignments to the last minute, sleeping until three in the afternoon, spending a lot of time just sitting around getting high. Now that he and Michael aren’t in the same classes, there’s no one to keep him on track. He’s not about to say anything. It’s not his best friend’s job to make him study. They’re not kids any more.

It’s around this time that they have their first big fight.

Michael joined some group called ACHIEVE almost as soon as they signed up for uni. He’s been spending more and more time with them. Ray doesn’t know quite what it’s all about, just that it’s some sort of huge fucking deal at UAC, that there’s always people in various colourful shirts or waving leaflets around trying to pester passing students for money. Sometimes he’ll steal one of Michael’s ridiculous tees printed with their emblem just so he can walk past them without them flagging him down to try and get him to sign some petition or other.

Either way, the nagging to join them starts early on, and Ray always says _no_ , but then Michael starts getting more and more involved, and they’re all planning some sort of big protest over the name of a building on campus - a fucking _building_ \- because apparently it came out that the guy it was named after was not, in fact, a world-class celebrated hero born in their beautiful Achievement City but some sort of massive racist with a super controversial past.

Michael’s more up in arms about it than he has been for anything in a long time. He’s constantly coming home all ablaze about some protest they’re planning and once again he asks Ray if he wants to come get involved.

“No thanks,” Ray says, for about the hundredth time - but this time, apparently, it’s not enough, because Michael pulls out a chair and sits down next to him.

“Don’t you care?” he demands, and Ray doesn’t like that tone in his voice. Sounds like Michael’s annoyed at _him_ , which frankly is not fair. _He_ hasn’t done anything.

“I think it’s shitty,” Ray says. “I agree they should change the name. But I’m not gonna spend three hours hanging out on campus waving a sign hoping they agree to listen to us.”  
  
“Why not?” Michael snaps.

“Because!” Ray throws his hands up. “I’m not political, alright? I don’t do all that stuff! What’s one person matter?”  
  
“Because one person and one person and one person adds up to a lot of people. It’s basic fucking maths,” Michael says.

“How many you got going?”  
  
“Couple hundred, if the Facebook group poll is accurate.”  
  
“That’s loads. You don’t need me. You have a petition to sign, I’ll sign it, but I’m not gonna go protest.”

This is usually the end of the conversation, and he turns away - but Michael grabs his arm, not quite roughly. The look in his eyes is… not angry, but disappointed, and it makes Ray’s stomach churn. 

“Ray… you’re not involved in _anything_ at uni,” he says, and Ray yanks his arm back.

“And I don’t plan to be.”  
  
“But what ACHIEVE does… it’s _good_. It actually leads to change. Don’t you wanna be a part of that? You’re part of the community. You’re bi, you’re-”  
  
“If the letters P, O or C come out of your mouth right now I’m gonna walk straight out that door,” Ray warns.

“We need every person we can get,” Michael argues. “And it’s _good_. It’s nice, to be part of something. The collective’s filled with really good guys. You’ll make a lot of friends, trust me. We have a lot of similar interests. Plus, it’s just… don’t you ever _want_ to stand up for yourself? To fight for your rights and others’? Don’t you ever want to do something that matters, really _matters_ in the world?”

“I don’t know why it’s so fucking hard for you to understand that that sort of thing isn’t _me_ ,” Ray snaps. He shoves his chair back and stands up, but stays there, glaring at Michael. It’s rare he gets this worked up about anything but right now, frustration and anger bubble up in his chest until he almost feels sick. “And that for some people, that’s just - not what they want to do.”

“If you stand by the sidelines and do nothing,” Michael begins, quietly, “It’s as good as siding with-”  
  
“ _Not always_!” Ray snaps, and rubs his hands over his face. “Jesus Christ, Michael, not _always_. Sure, I’m queer, but I don’t wanna shout it from the rooftops. Don’t you get that? I don’t want to go to pride or wave a flag at a rally. It’s not that I don’t think it’s a good cause. It’s just not _me_. You’ve known me for years now, you should _know that_. I didn’t participate in one fucking thing at school because I hate being in the spotlight. It’s my fucking identity, I get to do what I want with it. It’s my private business. _Mine_.”  
  
Michael’s staring at him, wide-eyed. Ray feels sort of breathless. Half liberated and half hysterical. He doesn’t think he’s ever yelled at someone like this.

“And other protests,” he continues, “Like this building name thing? It’s not that I don’t care, I just don’t want to help in that particular way. Or maybe you haven’t realised, but I make dinner so you don’t have to when you get home from all your late meetings. I let you use my printing credit for your pamphlets and I’ve never once fucking complained when you take up the entire apartment with those banners you’re always painting. I’m there to give you a ride if you need one and bail you out if you get in trouble. I’ll support _you_. But I don’t want to join ACHIEVE. I don’t like student politics and I’m not interested in being an activist. Doesn’t mean I won’t vote, or sign a petition, or speak up if I overhear someone saying some shit. But right now? You pushing this and trying to guilt trip me is really making me fucking hate the entire group.”

Michael is silent. He looks shell-shocked and a little hurt, and as the adrenaline rush fades, guilt seeps in.

“Look,” Ray continues, gentler. “You’re my best friend, man. I love you and I love how passionate you are. Just - don’t push this, okay? What ACHIEVE does is admirable, I’m not arguing that. But it doesn’t mean I wanna be part of it.”

Especially, he thinks wryly, because he’s seen via Michael just what sort of shit some of the people in that collective get up to - has been privy to numerous dramas both online and offline - he wants no part of that.

But Michael swallows hard, and Ray’s heart aches.

“Right,” he whispers, “Sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Ray says,  “I’m not mad.”  
  
Michael starts to stand - but Ray suddenly doesn’t want them to be like this, doesn’t want him to leave on these terms or feel bad. His anger has dissipated as suddenly as it arrived - and on impulse, he reaches out and pulls Michael into a hug. It’s one of the rare few times he’s ever been the one to initiate contact, and he feels Michael stiffen in surprise - then wrap his arms around him in return, relieved.

There’s things Ray doesn’t really think about. Like how he isn’t sure he’d’ve snapped so hard if he hadn’t already been feeling like shit about his grades and general motivation about uni. Like sometimes he wonders if Michael had dragged him along to ACHIEVE the first time if he’d have ended up wanting to be involved, same way Michael made him want to apply himself back at school. Like how sometimes he does still get jealous of how many friends Michael has, how his phone’s always blowing up with texts and how he’s clearly a pretty vital part of the collective. He’s not jealous _of_ Michael, no, he doesn’t want that for himself. But jealous, maybe, that they don’t spend as much time together. That things are more hectic and harried than they ever were back at school.

Still. After that, Michael never asks him to join ACHIEVE again, and though Ray is relieved, it leaves a lingering tension in him towards the group that never quite goes away.

 

* * *

 

Even though Ray keeps his vow to never get involved - it's impossible not to cross paths with ACHIEVE in some way, shape or form, given how involved Michael is with them. He's invited to parties with Michael, or they come over to the apartment to work on various projects, or they'll go as a group to movies or bowling or the occasional convention. So he sees them from the perspective of an outsider, and honestly? Like, one on one they're pretty nice.

There's Jack, who he's only met a couple of times but who seems very kind. He brings over a whole bunch of food one time after Michael mentions that Ray's been struck with the flu, and takes his temperature and gives him medicine. When Michael breaks his thumb he also drops by now and then to help with things around the house. Ray doesn't know him well, but Jack's pleasant and affectionate in a way few people he's met are, and Ray gets the sense that he _cares,_ no matter how well he knows the person. 

He meets Jon when he comes over to pick up something from their flat, and the two of them hit it off like old friends. He joins their little online gaming group playing Mario Kart and Halo, and they start hanging out now and then even without Michael.

It's... novel, having more than one friend. He's not close to anyone in his uni classes, never takes the initiative to start a conversation, but... he didn't realise how nice it could be having someone to text about random news, to tag in stupid memes on facebook, to go out to dinner with now and then.

There are others he enjoys spending time with, when Michael invites him out with them. Kdin. Lindsay. Meg. He tends to fall back and stay quiet when all of them get into political arguments - which is surprisingly often for a group of people who, he thought, were all on the same side - but either way, any drama quickly passes.

He's at a party with Michael when he first sees Geoff and Ryan in person. He's seen them speaking in vids on facebook and heard a hell of a lot about them. It's towards the end of a rather revelrous evening, and since Ray doesn't drink he's sort of vaguely hating the entire affair and really wants to just go home and sleep, but there was free pizza and he brought his nintendo and Michael's here, too. Michael who gets super fucking affectionate when drunk and who's been hanging off his arm the whole evening, whispering snide comments in Ray's ear about everyone they pass; it's a party the entire student rep council are invited to so there's a bunch of assholes they hate from the other political collectives on campus and Michael seems to know the dirt on all of them.

Ray likes it. He couldn't explain why if you asked him to, but - he likes the privilege of being the one Michael's closest to, the one to hear all his private thoughts, the one he wants to spend time with even at this event surrounded by all his other friends. He doesn't even mind if Michael's arm is looped around his and he's getting so close Ray can feel his warm breath against his ear.

Ryan and Geoff are sitting in a corner of the house; they're drinking coffee and have their legs crossed and looks like such mirror images of each other that Ray has to snicker.

"Wow, he's hot," he says, and Michael peers over his shoulder, sees who he's looking at, and snorts.

"Ryan? Sure, if you're into that."

"They're both way taller than I imagined."

"Dude, you should see them standing up."

Ray stares for a moment, curious despite himself. Even he will admit that the speeches he's heard Geoff give are stirring and he's sure they're even better in person. But right now, sitting there bickering over something, they just look like a couple of college kids.  And they are _fighting_ \- leaning in close to each other, speaking intently, gesticulating madly now and then-

"Are they banging?" Ray asks, flatly.

Michael nearly chokes on his own spit.

"What?"

"Look at them. They're way up in each others' faces." He points. He's serious - the way they're leaning into each others' space, the blazing eye contact... he's pretty sure he catches Ryan's eyes dart to Geoff's lips then back up again. It's nearly too quick to catch, but it definitely happens. "Look at them. They are so into each other."

"Oh my God, you're right," Michael breathes. He clutches Ray's arm tightly and the two of them watch for a moment. "But they're always fighting."

"Opposites attract, right?"

Michael starts laughing so loudly that Ray has to drag him out of there before they draw too much attention to themselves. That's a good night, one of the few that actually sticks in his memory as a time he really didn't mind ACHIEVE.

Still. Ray loses count of the number of times Michael's left navigating the arguments between Geoff and Ryan as their views clash. And he'll never forget the time there's a giant-ass fight over some article published in the school paper about ACHIEVE, which half the collective takes as gentle teasing and the other half as condescension, and there's a big argument on if they should respond which somehow devolves into an argument about free speech, and he's left rolling his eyes when Michael's up past two a.m. replying to three separate group chats about the drama. Every second post on the ACHIEVE facebook group is locked because of fighting in the comments.

There are at least three separate occasions when ACHIEVE kicks out and blacklists a member for doing something irredeemable, and Ray can only think, _this is all gonna blow up one day._

And honestly? He can see why Michael fits in. He's passionate and likes fighting for what he believes in and at heart, they're good people with similar views to him. Hell, Ray has fun with them too.

But he sure wouldn't want to hang with the main gang, and he'd never want to lay his friendship on the line by jumping into the drama.

ACHIEVE, he believes with gusto, is just trouble waiting to happen.

 

* * *

 

Here's how they get together.

Ray hasn't actually dated much. First sem he was too introverted, and second he was wallowing in the grips of a sudden lethargy; missing half his classes, spending a lot of time just lying around at home. But after a sudden burst of social energy - brought about, he suspects, by meeting Jon and the others - he's convinced to start a tinder account and goes on his first date with a guy.

Of course, it blows up in his face, because luck's never been on his side when it comes to social interactions. The guy gets way too handsy way too quickly and Ray loses interest and comes home in a foul mood.

Michael's there to listen to him rant, and his face clouds over when Ray tells him crossly about how the guy kept pestering him to come home with him, talked over all Ray's requests to take it slow, didn't bother asking him any questions and just talked about himself half the time.

"He clearly only wanted one thing!" Ray says finally, throwing his hands up.

Michael starts to rise.

"I'm gonna go fuck him up," he declares, and Ray barks out a startled laugh and grabs his arm.

"Dude. You don't even know him."

"Eco student who lives on campus, right? I can track him down."

"You don't need to," Ray says, a bit confused, because Michael doesn't really look like he's joking. "I'm fine, he didn't actually do anything. You can't go after someone just for being an asshole or you'd be after half the world."

"Um, have you met me?" Michael says, and Ray laughs again. He lets go of Michael's arm, but he lingers, standing, brows still furrowed. It makes something warm and pleased spread through Ray's chest to see him so riled up. Even now they've been friends for years he's still not completely used to someone having his back. "You deserve better than that."

"It's fine, Michael. What a first date, though, amirite. Might put me right off."

He's clearly joking, but Michael's frown deepens. He steps forward, into Ray's space, and Ray looks up in confusion.

"No, I'm serious," Michael insists. "You do. You know that, right?"

Ray stares at him - especially when, after a moment, Michael reaches out and tips his chin up. There's a funny hesitance in it, and Ray struggles not to flinch. His heart's pounding a lot faster.

Thing is, he's had a crush on Michael for a while now - he just never really gave it much consideration, because Michael's dated about twelve other people so he's clearly not interested. He's always set it aside as just a silly, fanciful sort of possibility - another direction their lives could've gone but didn't. They're good friends, so of course they have in-jokes, of course they care about each other and talk all the time, of course they go out to movies or fall asleep on the couch together. 

But now - now something lights up in the back of his brain, the sudden awareness that this is different. This is college and Michael's single right now and it's like the planets have aligned all at once.

"Michael," he begins, nervously - the other man looks just as hesitant, and when he starts to drop his hand Ray reaches up on impulse and grabs his wrist. "What are you doing?"

For once Michael's mouth just opens and shuts as though he doesn't have all the answers. Then, something flashes in his eyes, and is if on impulse he leans in and presses his mouth to Ray's.

The kiss is clumsy and awkward; for all that they know each other well they still don't touch all that much, and Ray's not actually kissed anyone before - but after a second he reaches up and grips Michael's shoulders, and Michael's hand on his cheek tilts his head into a better angle. It's comfortable and makes Ray's mind blank out, and for once a spark of something shoots through his chest, lights up the black hole that his heart has turned into over the last couple of months.

When it's over he's breathless and stares up at Michael with a mix of awe and confusion. His friend's face is bright red and Ray feels a great, flaring fondness for him.

"Was that okay?" Michael asks, and hesitates. "I just - I didn't like seeing you go out with that guy tonight. But if you don't want to-"

"I want to," Ray hears himself say, barely even registering the words before they're out of his mouth. "Let's give this a go. Why the hell not, right?"

Michael starts laughing, a bit hysterically.

"I like that attitude," he says, and Ray starts laughing too, and that entire night feels a bit like some sort of fever dream - but it feels like this has been a long time coming, even if later, later they'll both regret not taking this a bit slower, not easing into it more.

Still. 

First, there's the good.

They already have a comfortable ease with one another but for a stretch of time things somehow feel even easier. It's as though they're on the same wavelength, everything just... feels like it fits together. They go out on some cheesy date activities - ice skating, rollerblading, dinners at restaurants that are way too out of their price-range - but Ray's favourite nights are the ones where they're still just sitting at home with cheap pizza and videogames, just this time they'll sit with their legs slung over each other, and it ends with them falling into the same bed together.

So a lot of stuff doesn't even really change. They already know just about everything about one another. But Ray likes the little extra bits - the secret, affectionate whispers, the arm around his waist when they go out, the stolen kisses. He starts going to uni more, even, because he likes to meet Michael for lunch between classes. There are days when he still has to drag himself out of bed, but... it feels like the clouds have lifted, just a little.

That's the good. Next comes the bad.

The honeymoon period lasts maybe three weeks before shit starts blowing up again.

In hindsight, it's no one's fault. They're nineteen and don't quite know what they're dealing with, but Ray's moods take a downswing and when he tells Michael he failed two classes, he does a double take.

"Wait, what? You said you were doing fine?"

"I thought I was," Ray lies, but Michael's not fooled.

"You haven't been to class much, lately. Were you skipping?"

"I'm fine," Ray snaps. He's embarrassed and doesn't like the tone in Michael's voice, doesn't want to be babied like he's a kid again. And he doesn't know how to articulate that it wasn't skipping out of laziness, not really. He just - couldn't get himself to get up and go to class. Couldn't get himself to finish his assignment until three days past the due date. He's just - frustrated and doesn't want to dwell on it. "I'll just re-take it next year. Doesn't matter."

"Ray-"

"I said drop it, Michael," he snaps, and leaves the room before the other man can reply. When he's in his bedroom with the door shut he pauses, leans against it, takes a few deep breaths. Thinks, _please, let this pass. Let him drop it. I don't want to talk about it._

Still. Things get worse. He loses his motivation to go out, gets reprimanded for skipping work, gets super fucking frustrated every time Michael texts him to see if he's in class.

_Stop babying me_ , he always writes back, _I know what I'm doing._

_I don't think you do_ , Michael replies, and Ray ignores him for the rest of the day.

There were things they did before that Ray doesn't want to do now. Like go to the movies - he'd rather watch Netflix. The effort it requires to dress up enough to leave the house to eat out seems insurmountable. He just wants to stay home, heat up something in the microwave. Michael's still out at parties, at other shit with people from uni like pub crawls and free lectures and art shows. He always asks Ray to go with him and Ray refuses. Nothing sounds worse than being forced to socialise.

They fight about that - about how they hardly see each other anymore, about how Ray never wants to go anywhere. They fight when Michael starts suggesting - gently - that he goes to see a doctor or a counsellor. Ray refuses, he isn't sure why. Part of him too scared to admit that maybe this is a genuine problem, no matter how much Michael pushes. Their biggest fight is over whether they should move off campus accommodations into a share house with Miles and Kerry; Michael wants to, Ray despises the thought.

It’s the biggest argument they’ve ever had and the thing is… the thing is, Michael _likes_ fighting. He’s good at it. He did debating for years and he spends half his time at ACHIEVE winning arguments. He’s practically a professional. 

Ray hates it. He’d rather hide in his room and text Michael his replies after he’s had half an hour to think about them. He doesn’t like shouting, or being put on the spot, and he sure as shit doesn’t have the energy for it. And Michael, of course, gets worked up when Ray shakes off all his carefully crafted, logical reasons for wanting to move, gets frustrated with every “we’ll talk about it later,” is clearly holding back from just screaming at him about every little fucking thing that’s been going wrong lately.

They don’t end up moving.

It all ends in tears and honestly, Ray doesn’t remember much of the weeks afterwards, just that he has his first ever panic attack and it ends with Michael booking a therapist appointment for him and things are very, very quiet for the next week or so. He gets better eventually; these things pass with time, sometimes, and Michael’s a lot gentler, and Ray tries harder, and the two of them start talking more - about their grades, about their future, about what they want after graduation - but there’s a tension that hangs over them now, and the doubt’s been planted.

_Are we really a good fit?_

_Can we really keep going on like this?_

And then comes the ugly.

They’ve been dating for three months when Michael comes swanning into the flat one day - it’s a good day, they’ve had a good run of it lately - and announces, “Hey, I kinda think I’d like to meet your parents.”

Ray’s spine stiffens immediately. He looks up and grimaces at the smile on Michael’s face - too bright, too enthusiastic.

“Why?”  
  
“‘ _cause_ ,” Michael says, pulling out a chair. “I know nothing about them.”  
  
“Neither do I,” Ray mutters.

“And it might be… nice. It might help you connect with them.” He reaches out, squeezes Ray’s knee. Ray looks away.

Since he left home he honestly doesn’t think about his parents much. They text occasionally, but that’s it. Michael’s request is like tearing open an old wound.

“I don’t think so,” he mutters, and shrugs Michael’s hand off. “We’re years too late for that.”  
  
“I just think it would be nice. To share part of your life with them.”  
  
“I’m not even _out_!”  
  
“Don’t you want to be?” Michael insists, and Ray turns to him with a glare.

“No. It doesn’t matter. We don’t talk about that kind of stuff. It’s not,” he adds, aiming to hurt, “Like I’ve even met _your_ parents, anyway.”  
  
Michael’s jaw tightens. _Suspicions confirmed_ , Ray thinks, venomously.

“They know we’re dating,” he says, tightly. “And you can meet them if you like. They just live pretty far from here.”

“Your mum doesn’t.”  
  
“This isn’t about _my_ parents.” Michael’s voice has softened again, but Ray… Ray’s never been good with sympathy. It embarrasses him in a way he can’t explain. “I just - I want you to have a good relationship with them, Ray. That starts with reaching out.”  
  
“I’m _fine_ with what I have with them.” His heart’s pounding frantically now. He doesn’t like this, doesn’t understand why Michael would push it, is caught between hurt humiliation and something like fear. _You don’t understand. They don’t want me to reach out. They don’t care_. “Besides, you have met them. You shook my dad’s hand at graduation.”  
  
“Yeah, for about two seconds before you guys left.”  
  
“We don’t like social events,” Ray grunts. “Look, don’t push this, alright?”

Michael pushes it.

That’s his problem. He _always_ pushes. All of them, all of ACHIEVE, they don’t know where to stop. Ray thinks sourly, it’s probably just another project of his. Isn’t that the right thing to do. Help poor little Ray and his fucked up family heal and get back together. Facilitate a wonderful coming out story with a picture-perfect happy ending. Maybe he’s being unfair. But he comes home one day to find an envelope in the mail, and when he marches into the kitchen Michael’s head snaps up, guiltily, and Ray knows with a cold sinking feeling that he’s responsible.

“Why the fuck did my parents send us a cheque in the mail? What did you do?”

“Ray,” Michael begins, rising, but Ray steps back.

“Did you fucking tell them?”  
  
“Jesus, no! Of course not!” Michael snaps. “I wouldn’t _out_ you, Ray. I’m not an asshole.”

“Then what?” Ray demands, and Michael looks away and takes a shaky breath. His fists are clenched by his sides. It strikes Ray, suddenly, that he almost looks like a stranger. That even though they’ve seen each other just about every day for the last few years, he never noticed that somewhere along the way they grew up. They’re not kids anymore, kids who can brush off clumsy mistakes, kids who can bounce back from just about anything.

“I invited them and my parents to come down for the end of semester. I thought it’d be nice for us _both_ to see them, to get to know them. They know we’re best friends; I told my parents not to mention that we’re dating. I’d booked the hotel rooms already. That’s why your parents sent the money.” He hangs his head and adds, quietly, “They didn’t want to come. I didn’t realise they’d try and pay me for the room.”

Ray’s heart feels like it’s frozen solid in his chest.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, numbly.

“I thought we could fix this. Thought that it would be _nice_. Why are you upset?” he asks, and Ray sees red.

“Why am I fucking upset? Because I told you to fucking leave this alone, Michael, and I trusted you to listen me - not to go behind my fucking back! I could’ve told you that they wouldn’t want to come visit. Of _course_ they don’t-” And he’s near tears, suddenly, and hates it, “They don’t _care_. But thanks, Michael. Thanks for the salt in the wound. Boyfriend of the fucking year.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it, but Ray - Ray can’t fucking stand the look on his face. Like he just had all the _best_ intentions.

“Oh, _now_ you’re fucking sorry. Now that your master plan to manipulate us all into the story you wanted hasn’t worked out.”  
  
“It’s not like that,” Michael says, his cheeks red - and that’s the point where it escalates, because he just can’t go down without a fight, but for once Ray won’t back down on this, and before he knows it they’re both screaming at each other. Screaming every single little thing they’ve swallowed down since they got together, letting loose the ocean of unsaid words.

“-you’re the _worst_ , you can’t leave well enough alone, you just _have_ to be in the middle of everyone else’s _fucking business_ -”  
  
“You have no fucking initiative, Ray! You just sit around and let your problems fester-”  
  
“-you get off on causing trouble for everyone else. The only reason there’s so much drama in your friendship circles is because you instigate it-”  
  
“-I was just trying to take care of you-”  
  
“-not everything is _your_ fucking battle to _fight-”_

_“_ -it’s like being with a _child_ who can’t do a damn thing for himself-”  
  
“Just _leave then!”_  
  
“Maybe I will!”

At some point, a door slams, and Michael is gone. Everything after that is a blur, but one thing Ray is damn sure of: he doesn’t cry. And another thing: it’s over. It was a bad idea from the start, and he should’ve known it was too good to be true, and and all he wants to do is crawl under the bedcovers and block everything out. Sometimes he wishes he drank just so he could check out of reality for a bit.

Later, when his head’s clear, he tries to call Michael to apologise. But he doesn’t pick up his phone any of the three times Ray tries, and he doesn’t come home that night, and there’s something sick and final about it, so Ray packs up his things.

Later, Michael rings him. He ignores it, furious. He leaves the dorm and goes to stay with Barb and Trevor for the night; they don’t ask questions, which he likes.

Later. He finds out Michael went to a protest that day, that things got heated, that he was out of control and got arrested. It doesn’t pacify him, if anything, it makes him even fucking angrier, and he curses ACHIEVE and everything Michael does there with all of his heart, and ignores the next few texts. When Jon messages him, asking if he’s okay, and he realises Michael’s told everyone everything that happened - it’s the last damn straw. He applies for different university accomodations, leaves Michael one more message - _it’s not gonna work out_ \- and doesn’t see him again. Michael never texts him back, just keeps trying to call, but Ray doesn’t want to talk. Can’t bring himself to pick up the phone. Sometimes he thinks, if Michael had just _texted_ , they might’ve been able to have a conversation. But he doesn’t.

Sometimes it hurts more than he can express. A crushing loneliness, and a sick pain at how things ended, and sometimes he picks up his phone only to remember he  doesn’t have a best friend any more and misses him so much he can barely think. But most of the time - most of the time, he doesn’t feel anything at all.

 

* * *

 

When he finishes telling his story, Ray closes his eyes and falls silent, and Jeremy stares down at his hands.

The room feels ten times smaller. The rain is crashing down in sheets, so loud against the roof and windows that he can barely hear the music from downstairs. Now and then he catches a snatch of drunken screaming from outside as people dart out into the rain.

The story weighs heavily on him. And thing is, Ray’s clearly not angry about it. Just accepting. He doesn’t think it’s an exaggeration or a lie - mostly, because he realises grimly, because it’s exactly the sort of thing he can picture Michael doing without stopping to think about it.

He swallows, and when he speaks his voice seems too loud.

“You know… Michael was really torn up about the break up. Even by the time I met him, which was, God - six months later? I remember asking Geoff if he was seeing anyone and he told me Michael hadn’t ever dated properly because he was hung up on some ex.”  
  
“Yeah,” Ray says, laughing grimly, “That’d be me.”  
  
“So what happened after that? ‘cause you… you contacted him, right? He said you did. That you guys met up and then the day after that he and Gav…” Jeremy trails off at the look on Ray’s face. A mix of confusion and guilt. All that smug arrogance from earlier, he realises, has worn away. Was nothing but a mask this whole time.

“Last year was a shitfest for me, to be honest. After I moved out I just - was in a bit of a tailspin,” Ray admits. He sounds surprisingly calm about it. “I was just lying in bed and getting high all day. I failed every single one of my classes. I spoke to an academic advisor and it would’ve meant a lot of overloading to get back on track. Just couldn’t do it. So I dropped out. Switched to a different therapist. Turns out I’m super fucking depressed. It took me a while to rebuild, but… I’m working now. I’m doing better. I’ve moved to a different part of the city, been doing some IT work. I’m not gonna go back to uni - too much pressure - but I figured it might be time to start reconnecting with people.” He gives a wry smile. “Turns out it kinda sucks having no friends.”

Jeremy doesn’t know what to say, but Ray doesnt seem to require an answer. And in his head, the timeline’s starting to line up with what Michael told him.

“It was… really weird reaching out to Michael after all that time, but he agreed to a meet up. He came over to my place, and - God, it was _bizarre_. We were so awkward. It was like meeting up with someone from a dating app from the first time.”  
  
“I haven’t yet experienced the joys of online dating,” Jeremy admits, and Ray barks out a genuine laugh.

“Picture running into a high school teacher at the grocery store, then. We could barely look at each other. And I didn’t want to get back with him, God no, but still - it just felt… _weird_ , because the last time we’d seen each other we were still together. So I think both of us didn’t know how to act.”  
  
“You said before you were worried he took something you said the wrong way.”  
  
“Yeah,” Ray says, and chews his lip. “Part of the reason I reached out was that I… I wanted to tell him that he was right, about some of it. That six months, I did a lot of thinking. Hell, I even went on one of those bullshit retreats at the advice of my therapist. Thought it’d all just be some sort of navel-gazing crap but it was actually pretty good. I guess reality kinda punched me in the face when my mum texted me to ask how uni was going and I realised I’d never told her I dropped out.”  
  
“Shit,” Jeremy breathes.

“Yeah.” Ray’s lips twist. “So I wanted to tell him that I’d decided I was gonna come out to them. That I was gonna _try_ to reach out, at least, and hope that it did some good. Except Michael was being super weird that day.”  
  
“Weird how?” Jeremy asks, leaning forward.

See, there’s one thing he didn’t tell Jack, and that’s that _he_ doesn’t have the full Michael-and-Gavin story, either. Oh, he’s got Michael’s point of view, and he knows the gist of it… but as he’s steadily become aware, there’s more than one side to every story, and he’s starting to think that Michael might have left out a few pertinent details.

And at the back of his head, he’s still thinking, _don’t get involved, you’re just getting yourself in deeper_. But something about the way Ray’s leaning towards him on the bed, the almost vulnerable note in his voice, makes him think that maybe this isn’t all about him, either. Maybe, just like Michael, Ray just needs someone to _listen_.

“I knew he was dating some British kid in ACHIEVE from Barb. And when I spoke to Jon he said he was happy. Stable. But when I spoke to him, he seemed - jumpy, almost. Real worked up about Gavin. And when I kept trying to tell him he’d been right, he just kept asking me where we fucked up. Kept, like, trying to dissect the fucking relationship and figure out where it fell apart. I got pretty pissed off, because I’d spent six months putting that behind us and that wasn’t what I was there for.”  
  
“He was upset?”  
  
“Sure, _upset_ fits.” Ray shrugs. “I don’t know. Michael’s weird sometimes. He gets angry to cover whatever else he’s feeling, but that day, he didn’t seem pissed. Just worried. And another weird thing. His phone kept ringing at one point, over and over. Had to be, like, ten times in a row.”  
  
Jeremy’s heart jumps into his throat.

“What did he do?”  
  
“He turned it off. I asked him if it was important and he said no.” Ray’s eyes narrow. “Why?”  
  
“I’ll tell you in a minute. So what’d you say to him?”  
  
“Look, I’m not proud of it,” Ray says, and bites his lip. “I told him that I hadn’t _wanted_ to break up, that I wasn’t in a good place and sometimes things just don’t work out, but he kept demanding an answer and I just - told him that at the end of the day it was his fault. That he’s too rough, and he breaks everything he touches, and that he isn’t gonna get anywhere with _anything_ , including all that shit he does with ACHIEVE, with his bull in a China shop approach. That maybe he should take a step back and reflect like I did.”  
  
“That doesn’t seem that bad,” Jeremy says, and Ray shakes his head.

“I didn’t mean it like that, though. I… a lot of the time, it was Michael _being_ that bull that helped me out. If he hadn’t sat down and demanded to be my friend, I wouldn’t have stayed in high school. If he hadn’t forced me to study, I wouldn’t have gone to college. If he hadn’t made me hang out with ACHIEVE, I wouldn’t know Jon or any of the others. And if he hadn’t given me that slap in the face about my parents, I wouldn’t have reached out to them. So when I heard that he’d left ACHIEVE, I knew I had to come here tonight and tell him that I didn’t mean it.”  
  
“You’re not the reason he left ACHIEVE,” Jeremy points out, and Ray settles back and nods.

“So I hear. So it’s your turn, then, Jeremy. What happened between them?”

“I’m starting to think I don’t actually know the full story,” Jeremy admits - but Ray just keeps looking at him, curiously, and he takes a deep breath, gathers his thoughts.

"They'd hit a rough patch. Nothing major, just - Michael was super wiped because he had exams coming up, so they hadn't spent much time together lately. And Gavin can be... needy, sometimes. From what I understand he gets all anxious and worked up about stuff. Then, out of nowhere, you ask to meet up. And while he's at your place, Gavin ends up stranded on the outskirts of AC because his car broke down."

"He was the one calling," Ray says.

Jeremy nods.

"Yep. Michael says he, like, freaked the fuck out, even though Michael had told him he probably wouldn't be looking at his phone much that day. It's not like he was even that far from home. He could've called a taxi or something. But he was so fucking pissed that Michael wasn't there when he needed him that he broke up with him on the spot. Said he never wanted to see him again."

"Wait, what?" Ray's the one frowning now. "That seems unreasonable."

"You're telling me! Michael wanted to explain himself, tell him that he had no idea it was an emergency because Gavin had been calling him all week about trivial stuff. Boy who cried wolf, you know?"

"There's no fucking way that's the entire story," Ray says. "Like, I don't know Gavin, but I know Michael. He didn't tell you everything."

"The impression I got was that Gav was pissed because Michael made the time for someone else that day when he'd been too busy to hang out with Gavin that week," Jeremy explains. "I don't know what Gavin was doing so far out of the city that day, or if he even knows it was you that Michael was with. But it wasn't your fault. Gavin overreacted and just totally shut Michael out. Over _one mistake."_

Ray is quiet for a long moment. Jeremy chews his lip.

The more he thinks about it, the more he's struck by the sinking realisation that he doesn't know nearly enough to be involved with this. It's like he hurled himself in the deep end when he's not only unable to swim, but knows fuck all about the basic principles of flotation, mass, acceleration. 

He should never have gotten involved in this.

He keeps thinking of the look on Gavin's face when he saw him and Michael in that room. At the time he'd thought he understood what was going on between them. Now, he realises, there were about five other layers to the story he wasn't even aware of.

There's a haunted look on Ray's eyes and Jeremy suddenly realises that he was right. There is something contagious about him. But it's not what he thought. It's not poison.

"It's never just one mistake," Ray murmurs, and shakes himself. "You know, you might be right. Maybe talking will do them good."

"Or make things worse," Jeremy realises, glumly, and Ray shakes his head.

"Look, I... if I'm honest, I want to be friends with Michael again. I miss him. But I think we blew our chance."

"You can still talk," Jeremy begins, hopefully, his previous qualms forgotten. He hadn't realised just how close the two of them were once. But Ray shakes his head.

"No, you were right. Tonight isn't a good idea."

"Even so. I think he'd like that." On impulse he reaches out and touches Ray's arm. "Michael's been feeling... I guess isolated, lately."

"Guess we all are," Ray mutters - and Jeremy feels a shiver run down his spine; feels, suddenly, impossibly lonely, even at this party surrounded by his friends. Ray stares at him for a moment - then suddenly jumps up from the bed and grabs his wrist. "Hey - let's go for a walk."

"What?"

"Around the party. I want to show you something."

"You don't know anything about this house or anyone here! What could you possibly want to show me?" Jeremy demands, incredulous. Ray tugs him towards the door and he pulls back. "Wait! People can't see you here!"

A little of the exasperated spark lights up behind Ray's eyes again.

"Jeremy," he says patiently, "If my mere presence is enough to break everything, then it was way too fucking fragile in the first place. Come on."

Jeremy hesitates. But he's right, he realises - and then, with a venom even he doesn't quite understand, _fuck it._ He's made a hell of a lot of bad decisions already, not just tonight but across the entire last few weeks.

_What's one more?_

 

* * *

 

"This is why I don't believe in stupol drama," Ray whispers in his ear, and leads Jeremy through the house, a hand on his shoulder. "Look around you. Really _look."_

Jeremy feels a little dazed. He isn't sure what it is, maybe the amount of drinks he's had hitting him all at once, maybe something about how over the sound of not just the music but the thunder from the storm outside, it's almost impossible to hear anything. Maybe because with the rain pouring down outside there's something electric and stir-crazy about everyone crammed inside tonight, the room too hot, too writhing with noise and motion.

Ray's hand on his shoulder is grounding. But he looks around, and for the first time he _sees_. 

He sees Gavin - sitting on the couch, hands on his knees, head hanging low, looking for all the world like he's collapsing in on himself.

He sees Blaine awkwardly run into Miles and Kerry, sees three men who were once close friends hesitate and then turn away from one another, as though there's an invisible wall between them.

He sees how Lindsay, Meg, Tyler, Mariel, have bunkered themselves off to one side of the room. Sees Chris walk by them and hesitate, painfully - before turning and heading in the other direction.

He sees scornful glances and cold shoulders. Sees the division.

"It's not a meeting, it’s a social event," Ray murmurs. "And still, look at them. Nothing's getting fixed. How many friends did you lose in this fight?"

"Too many," Jeremy admits, his heart aching suddenly. It feels like grief. On Monday ACHIEVE will meet with their new president and he has no idea if he's gonna go to the meeting or not. 

"It's just so fucking stupid. You're all friends. You didn't actually do anything to each other. Hell, you all believe in the same cause. So what happened, Jeremy?" Ray demands, and Jeremy's mouth opens and shuts, and he feels suddenly like he wants to cry, because he can't answer. He just - can't answer. He doesn't know what happened. He thinks, at their core, that none of them do.

"You all want the same thing." There's a tight frustration in Ray's voice. "You're all good people. But this is what ACHIEVE _does_ to people. It turns friendships into alliances and disagreements into battlegrounds. You want another saying? _Don’t shit where you eat_.”  
  
“None of us wanted this,” Jeremy whispers, and Ray squeezes his arm.

“It’s just the way of the fucking world. You’re a nice kid, Jeremy. I can see it in you. You’re _kind._ You want the best for everyone. You can do better than this.”  
  
“They’re my friends,” Jeremy says, helplessly, and Ray spins him to face him. Jeremy grasps at him, desperately, staring up into his dark eyes.

“They’re not acting like it,” he points out - but when Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut, feeling like he’s drowning, Ray shakes him a little.

“Want to know what I think?” he says, and Jeremy takes a deep breath.

“What?”  
  
“I think this party was fucked from the start, and I think if we want to _actually_ fix things, we should leave.”  
  
“You don’t wanna talk to Michael?” Jeremy asks, surprised - but Ray shakes his head.

"Not here. Not tonight. I can see now that it won't work." He bites his lip. "Jack thinks that having everyone here will help - maybe because having more people here will temper things, or maybe he's under the impression that once Geoff and Ryan reconcile, everyone else will just magically become friends with one another again and you'll all go back to being one big, happy family. But life isn't a fucking Disney movie. Having every single person from ACHIEVE here is just dragging everyone else into things. You think having _you_ here has helped with what he's trying to do with Michael and Gavin?"

Jeremy bites his lip, hangs his head. Ray squeezes his arm.

"Sometimes," he says quietly, "People have to sort their shit out one on one. And sometimes, if they find out they can't, well - it doesn't help having an audience. The more pieces are on the board, the more complicated the game gets."

It makes sense.

It all makes a glaring, horrible kind of sense. The ACHIEVE drama only made things worse between Michael and Gavin, and Michael wasn't even involved. And having everyone here tonight hasn't made Jeremy feel better. It's only made him even more aware of just how fucked the entire situation is.

"We can't just walk out," he manages, weakly.

"Yes, we can. How many people around here haven't been drinking?"

"There's a bunch," Jeremy says, not sure where he's going with this. "You, Trevor, uhh, Mica I think? A few others I know are DD's tonight."

"AC's a beautiful city." There's a funny note in Ray's voice now, something oddly sincere. For once no defensive walls up. "I guess that's why ACHIEVE gets so much funding, right? We've got a lot of, like, natural shit to look at."

"I don't think taking dozens of drunk people for a walk through the rainforest is a good idea."

"Not the forest," Ray says, with a smile. "The observatory up on the hill? When I was on that retreat we used to go there. I kept going afterwards. It's the best place to gather your thoughts. To think. You wanna calm people down, that's the spot to do it."

"It's raining," Jeremy points out, "There's nothing to see in the sky."

"Tell me sitting in that big glass-domed building in the middle of a thunderstorm doesn't sound fucking amazing," Ray points out. "It feels like you're isolated from everything. Like you're wrapped in a blanket of clouds and nothing else in the world matters any more. I think after this fuckfest of a party everyone needs a chance to slow down a bit. To see the world's bigger than uni and stupol. Either way, I'll be going. I have a lot to think on after tonight. And I'm gonna invite some of the others along. Jon will come - and I bet Barb and her group are sick of this ACHIEVE stuff."

Jeremy stares at him. He thinks of the boy Ray told him about - the awkward, introverted, unmotivated boy who sat alone through most of high school, who couldn't get himself out of bed in the morning. There's not much trace of him left.

Ray must see the look on his face, because he laughs.

"I'm not totally useless, Jeremy. Or a total idiot, even if I dropped out."

"That's not what I was thinking," Jeremy says, flustered, but Ray raises a hand.

"It's okay. Look, when you have to rebuild from the ground up you need a lot of fucking tools to work with. I've done a hell of a lot of rebuilding the last six months. And my therapist gave me a lot of tools. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't. But all that zen shit people make fun of, like meditating and stuff. I don't know. There's something in it."

"That why you've been spouting fortune cookie sayings at me all night?" Jeremy mutters, and Ray gives a genuine laugh.

"We'll leave in like fifteen minutes. Think about it." He pats Jeremy on the shoulder. "I'd like if you could come."

Jeremy watches him walk away. His stomach feels tight and suddenly, suddenly he thinks that of all the choices he's made - _stay, or go, get involved or don't, yes or no_ \- this is one of the most significant. He can't just plunge in headlong with no regard for what might come of it.

_Leave the party. Go with Ray. Build your bridges somewhere else. Make peace with yourself before you do anything else._

He takes a shaky breath. His phone buzzes and he nearly jumps out of his skin. It's Jack.

_Hey did you find G and R?_

_Shit,_ Jeremy thinks - he totally forgot he was meant to be doing that. But one thing he's certain of; he can't keep meddling about in this, can't keep helping Jack even if he knows the other man has the best intentions in mind. They just keep fucking up and making things worse.

Still. He does a sweep of the house, mechanically - and suddenly too aware of the tension in every room, of the invisible divides - but they're not upstairs or downstairs or out in the yard. It's like they vanished into thin fucking air.

_I think they left, but I’ll text Geoff and see where he is,_ he sends back, though he has no clue where they could've gone, and wonders absently where Jack is. And then, as though the clouds are parting, a certainty sinks into him, and he adds: 

_I think I'm gonna go too, sorry, dude. Things just aren't working tonight and I think it'd be best if there are less people around making things worse. I know you tried really hard tonight, but the rest of us are just getting in the way. A bunch of us are heading out to the observatory if you want to come. <3_

He shoves his phone in his pocket after hitting send, suddenly nervous, and glances over his shoulder back into the lounge room.

A sizable cluster of people are gearing up to leave. It seems like Barbara has jumped at the idea and is encouraging people from both sides of ACHIEVE to come along. If anyone can do it, it's her, and Ray's lingering off to the side with a small smile. His eyes meet Jeremy's and Jeremy smiles back. He holds up a finger.

_One second._

Then turns and walks out towards the back door. The rain is pouring down and for a second he stands at the door bracing himself. But then he takes a deep breath, pulls his hood up, and makes a mad dash. For a second it's nothing but thunder, wind, cold. Then he's back undercover, in the damp chill of the garage.

The sound of the rain coming down on the sheet-metal roof is nearly deafening. The garage is an expansive space with a concrete floor, shelves lined with tools, a car and a few old bicycles parked inside. Cobwebs linger in the corners and the floor is grimy. On a rusty old picnic chair, Michael's sitting cross-legged, hunched over his phone. He looks up when Jeremy walks in, and his eyes widen. They're red-rimmed.

"You okay?" Jeremy asks, and Michael nods and swipes a hand over his face.

"Yeah... yeah. Jack was asking me a lot of questions about Gav."

"And?"

"And he thinks we should get back together. Or at least talk. I don't know."

"You don't know Gavin's side of things," Jeremy presses, and Michael bites his lip and looks away. He seems troubled, and Jeremy wants to walk over, slip an arm around his shoulders - but he doesn't. "Look... Michael... I don't think it's a good idea to continue this."

Michael's head snaps around.

"What?"

"It's nothing you did," Jeremy says, quickly. "Just - this was a bad idea from the start. I don't regret it, I don't regret _you,_ and it was fun while it lasted. But it was a distraction, wasn't it? From Gavin. Just like whatever he was doing with Ryan was a distraction."

Michael's staring at him. For once he's silent, a torn look on his face, and Jeremy swallows the lump that's building in his throat.

"You're my friend, Michael, and I'm happy to support you. But things have gotten real complicated lately and I think what we've been doing only made things worse. Sometimes you can't just - keep letting yourself fall deeper and deeper into drama. You have to face it head-on, with a clear head and an open mind. And not drag other people into it."

"Jeremy..."

Michael looks pained, and this time Jeremy does walk over to him. Michael leans in, but Jeremy just squeezes his shoulder.

"Talk to him," he whispers. "Reach out. You guys were good together, you can't let it fall apart so easily when you don't know the full story. Or at least - figure out what you want from all this. And be willing to listen and compromise. I hope to God that Geoff and Ryan can do that, too. But there's been enough of this situation escalating. I've played my part. It's time for me to step out."

"You're leaving?" Michael asks, and Jeremy nods.

"Yeah. You can too, if you like, but... either way, things between us can't continue. But I'd cherish your friendship."

Michael's hand folds over his. He pulls Jeremy's knuckles to his forehead, closes his eyes and leans into his touch for a moment, breathing heavily. Jeremy lets him, chest aching - but feeling oddly relieved. He'll be glad to be out of here, to clear his head.

Finally Michael pulls back. He looks up at Jeremy and gives a small smile.

"Think I'll stick around," he says. "See how this plays out."

Jeremy nods.

"It's fucking freezing in here," he laughs then, "Come inside!"

"In a minute," Michael says, and he nods. There's a slightly awkward moment where neither of them seem to quite know what to do - then Jeremy leans in, hugs him briefly, and turns and heads back out.

 

* * *

 

Someone's turned the music off, and the house seems suddenly very silent and still. A bunch of people have left, others seem to have retired upstairs. There's still no sign of Jack. 

Barbara and Gavin are still in the lounge room - making a passing attempt to clean up some of the mess. When Jeremy walks in, they turn and smile.

"Hey," Barbara says, walking over to him, "You coming?"

Jeremy nods. He looks over at Gavin, who's lingering with a shy look on his face - and reaches out to him.

"Michael's still out in the garage, but he's coming in in a minute," he whispers, and sees the flash of fear that passes through Gavin's eyes. He squeezes his hand. "He wants to talk. To try and sort things out. At least you guys can be on the same page."

Gavin bites his lip. Barbara comes up too, then.

"We're taking some people to the train station and past the uni dorms," she adds. "Even if you don't wanna come to the observatory, we can give you a lift home."

Gavin looks torn. The two of them wait, patiently. But finally he shakes his head.

"I've stayed this long," he murmurs. "I... I've done enough running away when things get hard. I'll stay here."

Barbara smiles and squeezes his shoulder. Jeremy's eyes meet his and for a moment, none of it matters. None of the ACHIEVE shit, not all the time they've spent being on opposite sides of this. It suddenly doesn't feel as all-consuming as it did before.

"I hope it works out," he says, "Really, I do."

"Thanks, Lil' J," Gavin whispers, and takes a deep breath, then walks off towards the bathroom.

Barbara goes to switch off the television. There are still a number of people lingering, but the massive crowds that packed the house earlier have all either left or have at least gone to sit down somewhere. Jeremy is suddenly very aware of just how late at night it is.

“Jeremy.”  
  
He turns. Ray’s lingering by the door - hood pulled up, eyes shadowed, a half-smile on his face. He holds out a hand, and as if in a dream, Jeremy moves to his side and takes it. An enormous relief settles over him like a weighted blanket. Silently, they walk from the house. He looks back over his shoulder twice - then forward, into the rain.


	5. ryan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Buddy Wakefield for the titular poem that's included in the final segment of this chapter <3
> 
> **see chapter one for content warnings**

**v. ryan**

Ryan keeps his cards close to his chest. So here’s something I bet no one expects.

He is hopelessly, desperately _, infuriatingly_ in love with Geoff, and has been for three fucking years.

But we’ll get to that.

Right now they are sitting in Ryan’s car, in the parking lot in the middle of campus between the two big ovals, directly facing the avenue near the law building where the worst of the campaigning went down. No student could walk two feet without someone from ACHIEVE coming up and waving a flier in their face and asking them to vote for whichever presidential candidate they were supporting. Everyone at UAC, Ryan thinks grimly, will be relieved that all this is over and done with.

_And they chose you. They chose_ you.

Even now, weeks later, the validation makes something settle in his chest. But he cannot relax, not really. Not ever. Not with Geoff here next to him, shoulders up around his ears, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his old hoodie, face all screwed up like a disgruntled child.

Ryan’s heart leap-frogs around his ribcage like it’s trying to escape. Geoff would say, wryly, that he’s surprised he has one. _But you are not stone._ And Geoff would be surprised if he knew that just about every day Ryan’s blood is racing through his veins like he’s just finished running a marathon.

He’s still surprised Geoff came. Although he’d never have shown it in front of Jeremy, the fight had alarmed him, for more reasons than one. People from the school paper were there and he doesn’t want bad press for his team before his term’s even started. But not just that.

It was Geoff in the middle of it. _Geoff_ , who these days is ever more heavy-lidded. Geoff whose anger is palpable even from two feet away. And Ryan’s not blind, and Geoff’s not an idiot, and it takes a lot for him to start pushing and shoving and throwing shit rather than just dismantling someone with words. That’s more Ryan’s schtick.

So something snapped. And something about that was terrifying, because for the first time - for the first time Ryan had actually _believed_ what he’d told Jack over and over. _It’s too late. No going back now. Past the point of no return_.

Except maybe not.

Because when he’d stepped in, when he’d told Geoff _we need to talk, just you and me, away from here - for Jack if no one else -_ when their eyes had met, even as he felt Geoff shaking in his grip-

The other man had come.

So here they are now.

It started raining ten minutes after they left the party. They haven’t even gone that far; Jack’s place is right down the road from the uni, but right now it feels like they’re on the distant shore of some deserted island, watching the rain soak into the grass around them, pool glistening back on the concrete floor of the car park.

Ryan’s spent more time on campus than just about anyone, whether it was all-nighters studying in the Law library or coming in on weekends to do work for ACHIEVE. UAC feels more like home than his parents’ house. But right now - at night, with everyone gone and the knowledge that come Monday everything here will be different - there’s something unsettling about the dark windows of the buildings, the _emptiness_.

Geoff shifts beside him. Ryan turns.

“So,” Geoff says, gruffly - he’s staring straight ahead, eyes tracking raindrops as they roll down the window. His anger seems to have reduced to a low simmer on the drive over. “If you want another pissing contest, can you do it in, like, the next five minutes. I’m fucking tired and I want to go home.”

Ryan takes a shaky breath. For all his silver tongue he has no idea where to start. There is too much at war in his head. For someone who acts as though every decision he makes is for some calculated purpose, who somehow seems to come out on top no matter what he does, he sure spends a lot of his time just internally screaming and wondering how the fuck the random, chaotic decisions he makes on nothing more than a whim and a gut feeling will play out.

And in the back of his head his father's voice spirals. _Why do you always have to make things so fucking difficult? Well, don't bother. I'm done with it._ He's not sure if he's fleeing the words or trying to tackle them head on.

But it is Geoff next to him, practically radiating heat in his anger, and Ryan turns and meets his eyes.

"I'm not kicking you out of ACHIEVE," he says.

Geoff stares at him. Then throws his head back and rolls his eyes so hard they just about fly right out of his skull.

"Oh, thank you!" he cries, flinging his hands up, "Merciful Lord Haywood! How can I ever repay you for deigning to allow me, a lowly-"

"Shut up," Ryan snaps. His cheeks are hot and his heart is still fluttering, like a dying bird. "I'm serious. I don't want you to leave."

"But you don't want me in charge," Geoff snaps, and rounds on him. His eyes are dark with anger. "You've made it very damn clear, Ryan, what you think of my contribution to ACHIEVE-"

"Believe it or not," Ryan says, "I never wanted this. And believe it or not, this isn't personal."

_Not completely,_ he thinks. But Geoff's staring at him now with the colour slowly draining from his face. Utter, incredulous anger, Ryan realises, and his stomach twists. It's not what he was going for here.

"Not personal?" Geoff hisses. "Not fucking personal? Maybe not for you, Ryan, 'cause you don't give a fuck about anyone. It was personal the second you decided to go behind my back. It was personal when you roped Gavin in and it was pretty fucking personal when you pushed all my friends to take sides. I can't fucking believe this! Not personal my ass!" 

"Geoff-"

"You know what's even worse? You didn't even fucking reach out - during or after." Geoff's nearly choking on the words with how much rage is in them. "After you won, that's it. Goodbye Geoff. Not even a courtesy text to see how I was doing. What the fuck did I ever do to you, Ryan? Did I piss you off somehow? Because I thought we were friends but you tore that all to shreds the second you didn't even decide to tell me you were running! I know we fight a lot, but I didn't think it was like _that..."_

He trails off, now, a betrayed, hoarse whisper. Ryan closes his eyes for a moment. The rain drumming around them makes the car feel too small, too confined. He had enough to drink at the party that everything's starting to feel a bit slow and foggy. There's a lot rattling around in his head that he can't quite seem to force down his throat and off his tongue in a coherent order.

"None of that," he manages, "Was about _you."_

"Then what the fuck was it about then?" Geoff demands, slamming his hands down on the glovebox. "I think you fucking owe me that at least!"

_You're right,_ Ryan thinks. And he opens his mouth, and he wants to explain, but the second he thinks back to it all - God, that whirlwind of last semester when it felt like every wall was closing in around him at once - it seems to overwhelm him in a single, crushing wave, and the next thing he knows his throat's closing up and his eyes are burning and his breath is coming in these heaving, wrenching noises that sound a hell of a lot like a dying whale-

Crying. He's crying. Well this is just fantastic. And he feels weirdly detached suddenly, like he's watching someone else's body collapse in miserable sobs, and rather embarrassed, but he can't really stop himself.

Geoff's mouth drops open. Then he just looks sort of terrified. Really, Ryan thinks, he can't blame him. He doesn't think he's ever cried in front of someone else in his life.

"Um," Geoff begins. "Ryan?"

Ryan tries to speak but nothing really comes out. This is not the turn he thought tonight would take and it is about as far from an ideal situation as you could possibly get, but, welp. Here he is. A grown-ass man bawling like a (very drunk) baby in front of the guy he loves who also hates him because he stabbed him in the back. While sitting in a car. At uni. While everyone else parties. 

_Nothing to be fucking done._

And you know, there's a misconception he thinks a lot of the group has - he realises this, with a bitter sort of irony, as he watches the complex dilemma play out across Geoff's face about whether to reach out and touch him or not. Like, Ryan actually is highly fucking aware of the things the others presume he takes for granted. Like that he comes from money, that he had a good education, that one of the reasons he's so eloquent is because his father is a barrister and one of the best in the city. That he probably acts like he's some sort of prince. That he's - to borrow a term his mother likes to use to describe people - 'well put together.'

But it's not like that at all, not really.

Because if he's a prince, he's Prince Hamlet. And the homes of his past are Elsinore - cavernous castles echoing with whispers, gardens overgrown to festering rot. Somewhere, there's always someone watching you from behind a curtain.

Geoff likes to tell this story about how he learned rhetoric from performance poetry. Ryan’s never admitted this out loud - and certainly not to him - but it was when he heard that that it first struck him they were two sides of the same coin. Except in his case, it was more like he threw himself into the world of Shakespearean drama because he could see too much of his own self in the lonely heroes with their ambitions and passions. In the morbid throes of family, loyalty, and deceit playing out. His version of teenage angst involved long nights lying awake imagining his own life as one of those stories - a complex powerplay between himself and his father. A lonely prince whose strength was moral fortitude, whose fatal flaw was his violence and lack of reasoned judgement. In his head he’d turn every fight with his father into strings of poetry spat at one another, every inner crisis became a soliloquy, every pain and struggle was just part of the hero’s journey.

Like if he could make it into something beautiful, perhaps it was all worth some end.

There’s only one problem. Shakespearean tragedies typically end with the hero’s downfall. And if he takes Hamlet’s nobility then he must take, too, his earthworm heart-

_You think you’re some kind of hero?_

_Some kind of lover, some kind of son, some kind of go-with-the-flow killing blow chosen by destiny’s designs? You- with your rot, and your fault-lines?_

_You are running on borrowed time._

“Ryan!”  
  
He jerks when Geoff calls his name. Realises for a moment he was falling lost into himself. And before he shakes himself, and takes a deep breath, and forces himself to get himself under control, he has time for one last thought-

That his fear, perhaps, is that like all those heroes his vision is somehow distorted. That he is blinded by Macbeth’s ambition, by Othello’s jealous insecurities, by Laertes’ blazing fury. That sometimes, he scares himself with how quickly he throws himself into action without a second thought.

_(Now, by heaven, my blood begins my safer guides to rule-)_

Geoff hasn’t touched him. He’s leaning in close, eyes soft with concern, but an awkward, strained look about his mouth. Honestly, the situation is sort of objectively hilarious. Like, he has no clue what he’d do if Geoff was the one who burst into tears in front of him.

“Sorry,” he hears himself say. His voice is all high and strangled, which would be humiliating if he could gather enough focus to feel _anything_ right now. “Sorry. I’m so fucking drunk.”  
  
“Yeah?” Geoff asks, dubiously. “That’s concerning since you drove us here!”  
  
“Not _that_ drunk. Just. Enough.” He swipes at his face, catches a glance at himself in the car’s mirror and grimaces. He’s all blotchy, his eyes starnding out a stark blue in his red face. “Sorry. Ignore that.”  
  
“Bit hard to ignore,” Geoff mutters, but the anger’s receded a little. “What’s going on?”  
  
Ryan looks away. His jaw clenches, and for a second he worries he’ll somehow set himself off again. But he doesn’t.

“I… I have a lot of shit going on at the moment.”

“Like home stuff?” Geoff asked, and Ryan shrugs.

“You could call it that.” He can’t meet Geoff’s eyes, suddenly, is too aware of just how much of a mess he is. There’s a prolonged silence broken only by Ryan’s laboured breathing. His heart is sinking deeper and deeper into his shoes.

God, he had this all planned out. Their civil conversation, how they’d both manage to make each other _see_. He’d hoped to be calm the entire time, that he might somehow settle Geoff if he got all worked up. Instead here he is blubbering like an idiot. Geoff’s probably about to get up and leave.

But instead, the other man unbuckles his seatbelt. 

“Switch places,” he says, quietly. “I’ll drive.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“That diner nearby where we always leech off the free wifi. I’m starving and if you’ve been drinking you should have something too. Nothing like breakfast food at midnight. We’ll talk,” he adds, and sounds a little nervous too-

But he’s still _here_ , and Ryan’s heart lifts. He nods, and they quickly dash around the sides of the vehicle to swap seats, and when he looks over at Geoff - dripping a little from the rain, mouth set in a grim line, eyes bright and earnest-

He loves him. He sees in this Geoff the determined man, the kind man who always seemed like he could sweep in to tackle any problem head-on, to right any wrong. He’s taking control in a way he hasn’t in weeks, and Ryan _loves him_. Fiercely. Earnestly.

The car’s engine growls to life, and the bright beams of the headlights cut through the dark. Geoff glances over at Ryan, briefly, and he can practically feel the other man’s gaze like the brush of knuckles against his cheek.

“You okay?” he mutters, gruffly.

“I’m fine,” Ryan says, his voice too small even if it’s curt. And he’s embarrassed - but maybe, he thinks, as Geoff begins to drive - maybe they needed this, too, because Geoff’s walls crumbled too quickly during the Birch Bunker campaign. They fell out of balance. Now they’re once again on even ground. He can live with that, because there are things they both need to learn. Like _at some point it’s always personal, just maybe not in the way you think,_ and _even the devil’s got a feeling or two. In a lonely, fucked up sort of way._

 

* * *

 

There are some things you need to understand about Ryan.

Like that he’s been building fortresses since he was small.

His father is James Haywood, the most prominent lawyer in Achievement City. His family dates back to the city's foundation; his ancestor was the first mayor and since then their family has a long history of important people. Police chiefs, politicians, the CEOs of important companies. A legacy worth an immense fortune.

Haywood is practically a celebrity, at least in the circles they run in. He's a defence lawyer, and a good one. Can get anyone to drop a lawsuit, can get companies off the hook for millions.

So they run in important circles. Circles where appearance is everything.

To Ryan he is Father. Father who he has never seen not in a perfectly pressed suit complete with tie pin and cufflinks. Father who always smells like expensive aftershave and hair gel. Father whose main sign of affection is a brisk handshake. He gets a kiss on the cheek once a year at Christmas. 

Father hires the best tutors to teach Ryan long division, elocution, etiquette. Father sends him to a speech pathologist when he's ten years old purely because he has a habit of fumbling words now and then, and demands that he learn to speak with the same eloquence as though he's presenting a case in court. 

The one thing Father teaches him himself is the handshake - firm, but not too tight, two pumps, maintain eye contact. They sit around the dinner table every night, all three of them, and discuss whatever notable events went on in their day, and the news (especially the business sections), and whatever family gossip has come through the grapevine. These dinners are important. They're part of being a Family.

And to the Haywoods, Family is everything. Loyalty is everything. Their name has been a staple of the city for centuries. To shame it is to commit an act of the highest treason. Yet at the same time it must be defended with one's life. There's a party animal of a cousin - Ryan doesn't remember much of this, he was small at the time - who's on the hook for three people's lives. Not quite murder, not deliberately, but he drinks too much and runs another car off the road and over the edge of one of the steep embankments that line AC. Ryan's father is a civil lawyer but he consults on the case; they get him off, somehow, although he's not invited to family events any more after that, and honestly? At that age, all Ryan really remembers is how they all celebrate afterwards, when they win, and his grandmother prompts him to run up and give his father a kiss for performing a miracle, and everyone is so happy that he laughs and smiles in delight along with them.

(He remembers all this - later, much later, when he's old enough - and looks up the news articles, and feels sick, and the three faces are burned in his brain for a long time afterwards. High school students, two weeks from graduation.)

And then there is mother. A waif of a woman, always perfectly made up, with soft, gentle hands and a soft, gentle voice, and Ryan's blond hair and blue eyes. 

She doesn't work, although Ryan has a distant memory of overhearing her tell a friend at one point that she has a master's degree in civil engineering. It's not until much later that he'll put together the pieces - it's never said outright, he puzzles it out himself - that his father won't let her. Perhaps it's his pride, perhaps it's something about his image, but he likes the idea of a beautiful wife who doesn't have to get her hands dirty, who can spend her days doing as she pleases on his dime. And his mother is doting and affectionate, she never speaks a harsh word to Ryan and spoils him silly in his younger years - but it's only at that point that he puts together that sometimes-vacant look on her face, the distant, faint annoyance for what it is. _Boredom._

 

* * *

 

There are a series of formative events that lead to Ryan laying brick after brick in what will come to be his palace walls - careful, contained, beautiful. 

It's not that Father doesn't care. It's that he cares too _much_. He cares about what people think of them, he is a meticulous perfectionist of a man who needs every piece of his life to be arranged just-so. Including his wife and son.

Ryan’s a fast learner.

The first time he’s screamed at for twenty minutes after throwing food around when an important man comes for dinner with their family, he stops misbehaving. (He is seven years old at the time).

The first time his teachers call home about his incomplete schoolwork and his father ignores him for three days, he makes sure he completes every assignment.

And he quickly learns never to cry and show weakness (unmanly), to complain when there’s too much on his plate between school and extracurriculars (that’s life, son), to ask to join the theatre club instead of debating (we are not a family of actors, get those impossible dreams out of your head), or to tell his parents if he gets anything less than first place at something (no one comes _second_ in a court case, Ryan - if you’re not a winner, you’re a loser).

Instead he figures out very, very quickly that it’s for the best to be the good boy. The perfect son. The straight-A golden boy who succeeds at everything he does, who never shares too much (and especially anything that indicates he might be _weak_ ). He’s a stone veneer of polite smiles, everything he says is calculated to perfection, and his father is very, very proud of him.

(There are other things he learns, too. Like not to step in when his father yells at his mother, even when it’s so loud he can hear them from upstairs in his room. She never shouts back. And there are things Ryan knows, like that he buys her expensive gifts and would kill anyone who looked at her the wrong way, and that he’s never laid a hand on either of them. That he _wouldn’t_. But there are other things he knows, too, like that there are different sorts of damage, and that words are different to wounds; they lodge like splinters, they fuck you up from the inside.)

_Nothing to be done,_ as Beckett says. 

It would be easy to fall into the trap of growing up just like his father, who was raised the same way under his grandfather’s stern hand. Cold and implacable, with the same values, the same habits. And perhaps he would have, because even at school he can see himself falling into the same pattern of getting close to no one, of scanning people and ranking them based on what they can _do_ for him, of wanting nothing more than to get at the top at all costs and _stay there_.

( _But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve for daws to peck at-)_

And then he falls in love with a boy.

Ryan starts boarding at school when he hits his senior years (to teach him _independence_ , according to his father) although it’s only an hour away from his house and he goes home on weekends. He’s always held himself at a distance from his classmates, but suddenly he’s thrust into sharing their space, into not being able to isolate himself in his room for the majority of the day.

And it’s watching them - laughing with one another, teasing and joking and hitting like a group of rowdy brothers - that for the first time he recognises the emptiness in his chest as _loneliness_. And he’s a popular kid - he’s handsome and rich and the class president and super fucking smart and everyone’s dad knows his Father-

So when he tentatively joins in, he’s embraced into the fold with vigour. And that’s when he realises that he actually does have feelings, somewhere deep inside. That he’s not cold at all but burning mercury-hot. A lot of pent-up passion just waiting to burst out.

It starts with a party to celebrate the end of their half-yearly exams where a lot of them drink illegally for the first time, and Ryan’s parents aren’t here to see and they don’t have to find out, so he does, too. That party - and a kid on the football team called Hank Crawford who has rosy red cheeks and the darkest eyes Ryan’s ever seen. They make out in the common room after everyone else has left and Ryan can’t sleep that entire night because his heart is squeezing itself silly in his chest.

Then there is Justin Wu, the boy in the dorm room across from him, who teaches him to play chess (among other things).   
  
There's Alex, who sits next to him in maths, and Thi who's his group partner for an English project, and finally Carlos, their school's religion prefect who organises all their school masses and is probably the biggest social justice freak that Ryan's ever met.  
  
That one's a weird one. That one's the one where it's more than just a teenaged fling - that's where Ryan properly catches _feelings._  
  
And it's weird, because Carlos fucking loathes him at first.

"Your ancestors were corrupt," he explains, one night when the two of them are alone in the common room, the last survivors of a late-night study session. "Your family are grotesquely capitalist and involved in some of the worst businesses in AC."

"They earned everything they have," Ryan says - tight, defensive, but feeling like there's a hand squeezing his throat.

"Yeah, by stepping on everyone else!" Carlos' eyes are blazing, passionate, and as angry as Ryan is at the slight to his family name, something else stirs in his stomach too. The Haywoods are a cold people. But lately he's felt his own ice beginning to melt.

"You really enjoy it?" he demands then. "All that shit you do with the soup kitchens and the environmental committee - it's all for free, right?"

"It's called volunteer work. And yes, I enjoy it. There's nothing more worthwhile than fighting for a better world - than helping those less fortunate. They say money can't buy happiness. Perhaps happiness is too shallow a word. Fulfilment."

Ryan swallows, hard.

"Last year," he manages, "You petitioned for the school to do Wear It Purple Day."

"Yeah, that didn't go so well," Carlos admits, rubbing the back of his neck and giving an embarrassed chuckle. He looks nice when he laughs, Ryan's treacherous brain contributes.

"I'm surprised they let you be religion prefect after that. How can you be Catholic and still..."

He trails off, unsure how to phrase things - but Carlos doesn't seem insulted. He leans in, presses Ryan's arm, something almost sympathetic in his eyes.

"It's because I'm Catholic that I believe in love, and fairness, and helping others as much as you can. But you don't need religion to want to do good, Ryan. That comes from inside. This world will give you a lot of rules to follow. But it's in your heart you know what's the right thing."

_Rules_ , Ryan thinks, and swallows hard.

Things escalate from there. It's a weirdly formative time in his life, but they start hanging out more and more to study because they're both doing a lot of the same subjects, and then he accompanies Carlos to one of his rallies (out of morbid curiosity, he tells himself), and he's hooked from there. For the first time he latches onto the idea of justice - not his father's idea of winning a court case, but the genuine, proper, blazing justice of having a cause to fight for. It's addictive. He has a lot of pent up anger with nothing to direct it towards and it almost scares him sometimes how easy it is to let it take over and get riled up about something.

Carlos is delighted. The two of them are together, by this point. He has taught Ryan a lot, and Ryan in turn challenges him more than others have before, and although they keep it discrete, it's the first time Ryan's properly dated a guy, not just fooled around.

Of course, that's when the anxiety starts kicking in.

Because he's never thought much of it, all this while - what his parents will think. How they will take it. Now he can't get it out of his fucking mind, and he spends a lot of sleepless nights back home lying awake wondering what look will be on his father's face. What his mother will say.

_You don't have to come out_ , he thinks, _you could keep this a secret forever. God knows you don't tell them a lot of things._

And there are moments that make it hard. Like how happy his father is when Ryan says he's thinking of doing law, and how he pours him a drink and says how very, very proud he is, and Ryan smiles and he is happy but there's a stone in the pit of his stomach at how shattered he knows they will be.

And there's his mother, too, who keeps asking him which girl he's taking to formal, and he dodges the question each time, feeling like there's an anchor strapped to his chest.

_Tell them-_

_Don't tell them-_

_Avoid the topic-_

_Actively lie-_

_Leave the city_ \- it's an extreme option, and one he doesn't want to take; his father wouldn't mind him studying abroad, he knows, but he loves AC. He's lived his whole life here. He likes the city and the people and all it has to offer.

And there are other things to confront, now. Like where he fits into his family. He doesn't think they'd ever disown him - the Haywoods stick together - but at the same time, Carlos has brought him to a few sickening realisations. He doesn't view his father the same, or his grandparents, and it feels like grief - to lose his pride in his name, the greatness he grew up with. At some point, he knows, he will have to cast them off. They are too much at odds with each other. At some point.

_But when?_

So he has a lot of impossible choices ahead. A lot of cold-hard, where's-God lonely dark, fist to the stomach and the heart-

And a lot of questions that keep him up at night-

And the sort of battles that'll kill him to fight-

But in the end, it turns out, he doesn’t have to decide at all.

It's stupid. It's not the way he'd ever have chosen to come out, but he gets careless; it's the school holidays, and they're skyping, and he forgets his bedroom door is open, and the next thing he knows he looks up and his mother's standing there staring at him.

If there is one memory from his youth that Ryan will never forget, it is the way he literally feels the blood draining from his face when he realises she's heard everything. The way his heart sinks into his shoes and a cold ice spreads through his entire body. He remembers closing his laptop numbly, cutting Carlos off mid-sentence.

Remembers how the two of them stare at each other like they’re strangers. Remembers how she walks into the room, until she's standing by the bed, and how he can feel himself shaking and can't stop.

"Carlos," she murmurs. "That's the Filipino boy, the one who sang so beautifully at last year's awards evening."

Ryan can't answer. He can't even bring himself to nod.

She reaches out and runs her hand down his cheek; he flinches a little. The look in her eyes is one of shock and vacant disappointment.

"But you're such a handsome boy," she murmurs, sounding lost. Ryan really has no idea what the fuck that has to do with anything. She leaves the room in a hurry and he sits frozen for twenty minutes before jolting into action and leaving the house. Drives to school, intending to stay in his dorm - but thinks better of it and comes home late at night after the most fretful day of his life. His phone is dead silent the whole time. 

When he comes home things are very quiet. His heart feels like it's up in his throat. His mother has already gone to bed and his father is in his study. Ryan stands outside his door for fifteen minutes, sweating through his shirt. When he works up the nerve to knock, he nearly shits his pants.

"Come in," his father calls, and Ryan walks inside.

He'll never forget the look on his father's face. Not angry, not even upset. Just completely cold and hard and blank. Like staring at a stranger.

"Father," Ryan whispers, his voice small. But he knows his father hates weakness, and he swallows hard and forces himself to straighten his back. "Just wanted to check that everything is... alright."

His father blinks twice, slowly. Then closes his laptop.

"I don't want to hear anything about it," he says. The words have a weight to them that Ryan understands. This will be their unspoken secret - unspoken to the public, to the entire family. And at the time he is cowed enough that he nods, and he means it when he replies:

"Of course. I understand."

His father turns back to his work. It's a clear dismissal, and Ryan leaves for his room feeling exhausted and sick, and things go relatively back to normal after that. His family don't shut him out, but they don't want to know, either, and he supposes it's probably not the worst thing that could happen-

But it only solidifies the growing distance he's felt from the Haywood name, and he vows to himself, _at least with other things, I will no longer be silent. I cannot._

 

* * *

 

Things don't work out with Carlos. They end explosively, after they get into a disagreement about how intense Ryan's getting about some of their protest stuff, and they both throw themselves into final exams anyway.

The next thing Ryan knows he's moving out of home entirely and headed to UAC to do law and he doesn't think he's ever been more excited about something in his life.

For the first time, he's completely out from under his parents' thumb. He's already subscribed himself to dozens of newsletters, joined three collectives and is eying up several more, and is determined to completely break the shackles of his childhood and head out into the world with all the force of a hurricane.

Some things have changed. He argues politics with his family now and then - well, his father mostly, while his mother watches on wringing her hands and glancing beseechingly between the two of them - about all sorts of things. Feminism and economics and whatever's happening in the news at any given moments, and his respect for his father drips away piece by piece, like sand through an hourglass-

But as much as they clash, there's a small, childish part of Ryan still desperate for his love and approval. Still clinging to the memory of the times he could make his father smile, of the proud look on his face when Ryan got dux every single year at school. And he knows his father still wants that, too, because he still regularly invites Ryan into his study for a glass of whiskey and a chat about whatever court case he's working on.

It leaves him in an odd limbo where he can't bring himself to entirely cast them aside. So it's good to get out, to get away, even if he knows his family is silently mortified by how politically outspoken he's becoming.

 

* * *

 

It doesn't take long to fall for Geoff.

Ryan joins ACHIEVE not quite knowing what to expect. He's seen the group around campus - usually in various brightly coloured t-shirts - and the one thing that struck him was how friendly they all were with each other, always laughing and smiling and shucking one another on the shoulders.

Something about that is a bit intimidating. No one likes being the new kid, and he's barely balancing his study with other commitments as it is. If he's gonna join the collective, he doesn't want to half-ass it.

But they have funding, and get concrete results, and after following three of their campaigns, he determines them the best way to create direct change while he's here, so he walks into one of their meetings with far more confidence than he actually feels. And things develop from there.

Burnie's leadership is a bit mild for Ryan's taste, but he has a good heart. When Geoff takes over, Ryan can see Burnie’s influence on him immediately; he's not sure if it's because they dated, or if Geoff is some sort of protege - but with Geoff it's different, with Geoff it's not just a reluctance to push things further, it's a genuine belief in the need to create change as peacefully (or, okay, perhaps legally) as possible.

Either way, Ryan's soon confident enough to pipe up with his own ideas - and almost immediately, the two of them start butting heads.

Here's how he sees it.

Geoff is his foil. He fits neatly into the saga of Ryan's life; to teach him a lesson, maybe, or to help both of them grow stronger. He's not sure if Geoff's there to help him see a better way of doing things, or if _he's_ the one playing that role for _Geoff._ Or perhaps if both of them will temper one another out.

He never actually dislikes Geoff, God. Nothing even close to that. He doesn't agree with him, sure. But from the second he sees the other man at a lecture bash, staring up at a sea of disinterested faces and somehow still managing to deliver the sort of rousing speech that Ryan's pretty sure would make his old elocution tutors jizz their pants on the spot - he knows Geoff's something special.

And that's just on any old Tuesday afternoon. 

So no, he quickly realises that Geoff is a worthy... not opponent, hell, not even rival. _Foil,_ that's definitely how he likes to put it. And if Ryan's the first to jump in with some sort of counter-argument - he can't help it, he just has so many fucking ideas - he's also the first to jump to do what Geoff asks if they do come up with some good compromise. He doesn't think they'll ever see completely eye to eye. But Geoff challenges him, and he likes that. And Geoff doesn't take shit lying down.

Ryan falls for him embarrassingly fast.

He can't help it. Some subconscious part of him just always seems to want the other's attention. He's disappointed if he walks into the meeting room and Geoff's not there. He finds himself leaping to answer his texts as soon as they come in. When Geoff does agree with him on something he gets a warm swell of pride in his chest that few other things can bring him.

Not to mention - Geoff's attractive. God, his parents would have a fucking heart attack; even Carlos came from money, you had to at his old school. Geoff's different. It's something else that draws Ryan to him - his colourful tattoos, or how his gaze can flick from sleepy to blazingly intense in the blink of an eye, his infectious laugh. This is different, totally different even to the few boys and girls he dated throughout high school and in his gap year; something deeper, bolder, and he can feel himself falling further and further into it until there's a knot in his chest he can't find the ends of every time he so much as looks at Geoff, until he replays every one of their conversations over and over in his head for hours after they happen.

Sometimes when he looks at Geoff - delivering some address for the uni, or yelling into a megaphone at a rally - he almost can't quite believe he's real. There's something magnetic and consuming about him that Ryan at once loves and envies, that he finds almost frightening-

(No one ever told him how much love would feel like drowning - the way it keeps you on your knees, pinned in that desperate deep-

It's not witchcraft, but it feels like it-

It's not witchcraft, but he can't breathe-)

When Geoff and Jack get together, it's crushing, but he does love them both, and can't deny they are a close pair. It makes sense. But that doesn't last long, and during these months Ryan dates a series of people only to find himself feeling nothing but flat and empty towards them, blazing with a want he can't fill, and when they eventually do break up he only feels even more desperate to take action.

_Do something-_

_Make a move-_

_Stop wasting time-_

Hasn't he always prided himself on his willingness to take action? But this is different. Instead, he fiercely hides any semblance of a crush - especially from Geoff - because at the back of his head is a festering, black doubt.

_He hates you._

_Why would you think this could ever work when you're fighting constantly?_

_You'll ruin everything. It'll never work out, anyway._

And perhaps it's his own cowardice - perhaps he can't handle the thought of rejection, perhaps he wants this too much until he's let the potential grow in his mind to become some sort of unrealistic dream he can't bring himself to actually pursue-

Perhaps, he thinks bitterly, he likes to go after people who hate him because at the back of his head he knows it won't work out. It didn't with Carlos, did it? And maybe it's just easier to sabotage his chances before they even begin. That way nothing will ever be real, and he won't have to face being shunned by his parents, or the terror that at the end of the day maybe he is all just bluster and talk and if someone looks beneath the surface they'll see nothing but his fear.

 

* * *

 

Still.

As the three years wear on, as he holds his silence, as he watches Geoff get re-elected again and again and is promoted to vice-president in turn, there are moments he knows he won't ever forget, ones he treasures close to his chest.

The chess games are one of them. He relishes every evening he gets to spend doing nothing but talk with Geoff - especially once the politics are over and they get to know more and more about each other. He drinks in every story that Geoff tells him about his schooling, about ACHIEVE before Ryan got here - every one of them only makes him seem more endlessly fascinating.

He loves the way Geoff's brows furrow in concentration when he's moving a piece, he lives for the adrenaline rush when they get down to their last few pieces and the game is close. The way Geoff's lips twitch continually in a barely-repressed smile, like he doesn't want Ryan to know just how much he's enjoying the game, is endearing.

(There is so much he wants to ask - more about Geoff's parents, the story behind each of his tattoos, why he and Jack broke up - but he's scared to push, to seem too eager or God forbid _nosy_ \- so he waits, he takes what Geoff can give him, little by little-)

And then there are the fights.

They get bad sometimes - get catty and brutal until they're screaming in one another's faces - but always, always Ryan can feel them pushing one another to be better, to speak more articulately, to build a stronger case, and he can see in Geoff's eyes that he knows it too-

(Foils-)

And sometimes - sometimes they're not bad at all. Sometimes they don't get vicious but instead feel oddly intimate - like fencing or a slow-dance, a battle of minds; they get up in each other's faces and in that moment Ryan feels like Geoff isn't focused on anything in the world but him, both of them desperate to get the other to understand - like they're reaching out, trying to grasp one another, but hitting some pane of glass between them. He feels like he could drown in Geoff's voice, sometimes, or the intensity of his eyes.

("Why are you like this?" Geoff usually ends up saying, flinging his hands up - like he literally just can't wrap his head around it-

And that's the one thing Ryan can't explain to him, because he doesn't know where to start, because the cracks run back too deep. How can he put into words that he spent far too long being so, so careful not to step on any toes that he refuses to do that anymore. Refuses to be cowed and crushed, that he hates that they live in a world where anyone feels like they have to keep their mouth shut about who they are. That he's done with propriety and playing by the rules. Most rules are nothing but chains.

How can he ever say that he sees his father in most of the people they go up against, and that to spit in the face of the system is his way of casting off his shadow?

And how can he say that sometimes, sometimes the helplessness he feels is so fucking crushing that the only way he feels like he can breathe is to lash out, fight back, take control, even if that means picking up a stone or a molotov, even if that means not playing _nice?)_

It's impossible not to spend time together once Ryan's elected vice-president. They usually have a lot to discuss and sometimes it's more convenient just to head out for dinner after class and talk it over there. Ryan usually insists on paying, and Geoff usually lets him, and it's hard not to feel close to each other when they literally spend most evenings breaking bread together.

"Can I ask you something personal?" Geoff asks one night, when they've finished going through the notes from today's meeting.

Ryan peers at him over the top of his menu, intrigued and a little excited.

"Sure," he replies.

"Do you drink? Because when we go out together, you don't usually - and you don't in meetings - but I've seen you have champagne before with Jack. Was just wondering."

"It's okay," Ryan says, "It's not that personal, actually. I don't enjoy drinking, but I'll have one now and then. Usually just on special occasions. My father's something of a whiskey connoisseur, but I must confess I've never had a particular appreciation for it myself. In general I prefer not to drink. If I'm honest, I can't hold it well."

"Fair enough."

"And you?" Ryan prompts gently, after a moment; he's mostly put the pieces together, but Geoff's never explicitly spoken about it before. Still - he brought the topic up, so Ryan hopes it's fine to ask.

To his relief, Geoff just smiles.

"I've mentioned before my mother was a terrible alcoholic. It runs in the family. I used to be, too, but I got sober once I got into uni. I wasn't going to let anything fuck up my chances here."

"That's very admirable," Ryan says, and Geoff's gives a genuinely pleased little grin.

"Most of ACHIEVE are big drinkers. It's nice sometimes to get away from it for a bit."

"I'll drink to that," Ryan says, raising his glass of water, and Geoff laughs and clinks his own cup against his, and his chest swells warm.

Other things. Little things.

Like how they lend each other books and give them back with dog-eared corners and pencil scribbles. Books should be loved, Ryan's always thought, and is glad Geoff seems to be of the same mind.

And how when Jack's parents come by for a while he sees Geoff staring at them with the same sort of open longing he feels in his own heart, because the sheer affection they shower on their son, the love and acceptance they show to him...

It's so foreign to him that he can barely stand to look at it. And he suddenly, desperately wishes that he had parents he could talk to about things like that, because even with his mother he's always careful to never upset her, and he knows she'll always side with Father over him. To have someone who loves him unconditionally - to know he could go to them for advice or a kind ear - to have the comfort of a family home...

He knows none of it. He wants it more than he can say. And seeing the same look on Geoff's face...

Even if the other man doesn't realise it, even if Ryan tries not to bring it up to avoid getting into a fight about who had it worse growing up (a fight he knows he can't win, not when on the surface it looks like he had everything) - they're kindred spirits.

There are things he's quite sure Geoff doesn’t even remember himself. Like how he once sent Ryan home from a meeting when he showed up sick and exhausted after getting no more than three hours of sleep the entire week; he looked like death warmed over and Geoff had bundled him out of there with strict instructions to rest and recover, and the concern on his face was genuine, and he drove Ryan back to his apartment and brought him chicken soup. It's usually Jack who does stuff like that. Ryan's never forgotten it.

So he loves Geoff.

He loves him more than he's ever loved anyone. Even when he's furious or frustrated with him - he loves his passion, he loves his kindness, he loves how he never, never fucking gives up. 

There's one that sticks in the back of his head, that reminds him why he does this. He's standing around the back of the collective meeting room. His father's called him and is screaming at him over the phone, has been for fifteen minutes.

"You got yourself arrested?" he's demanding - a protest went slightly awry and perhaps it was mostly Ryan's fault for being a bit too enthusiastic. "What the hell were you thinking?"

The words drift in and out, blur into one another, an endless stream of disappointment.

"-starting to go too far-"

"-don't you ever think about others-"

"-what about your mother-"

"-you're damn lucky we had enough connections to get them to drop this from your record!"

"What?" Ryan snaps. "I never asked you to do that!"

"What was I meant to do?" he hurls back, furiously, "I will have no son of mine rotting in a jail cell!"

"It was hardly that dramatic! Don't do that again," he hisses.

"Don't you take that fucking tone with me." The sheer, raw fury in his voice makes Ryan fall silent. Something in it brings him right back to childhood. “I’ve put up with this childishness for a long time, Ryan, but it’s starting to become quite impossible.”  
  
“ _You’re_ impossible,” Ryan manages, and hangs up.

He’ll get flack for that later. For now he lowers his phone and takes a long, slow breath, pressing his hands into his eyes.

“Ryan?”  
  
Geoff’s approaching, balancing his laptop, three textbooks and a keep cup precariously in one hand and the keys to the room in the other. Ryan straightens up and whirls around. 

“Ready to tackle this?” Geoff asks, with a wide, wild grin, and Ryan feels something in his chest ease. Feels all his pain calcify over into nothing but hard resolve.

“Of course,” he says, and Geoff claps him on the shoulder, and the warmth from his hand seems to linger, and Ryan’s at once amazed and grateful at how something so small, so mundane, could so easily manage to put his mind at ease, to remind him that no matter what his father says, he’s exactly where he needs to be.

 

* * *

 

The problem with Birch Bunker, Ryan will later realise, isn't just that it was too personal. It just happened at the completely wrong time for all of them. In hindsight, if it'd been six months earlier - when Gavin and Michael weren't about to break up, when his own family wasn't about to come after him with flaming torches and pitchforks, when half of ACHIEVE didn't have their honours projects due in two months, if Geoff's mother hadn't passed away right in the middle of it - he doesn't think things would have blown up the way they did.

But at the time, of course, they don't know all that. At the time, it just feels like everything is closing in around them.

Here's Ryan's side of the story:

He's not an idiot. He can tell that, for whatever reason, this one's important to Geoff. He thinks it's probably just because it's one of the biggest projects ACHIEVE has had in a while, one that has direct, concrete ramifications. One that, if they win, will boost the collective's reputation, will really show how they can make a difference.

And he can't deny it - it's an issue that's close to home for any of them who have ever worried about getting kicked out of home for coming out. It's an important one, and the more he thinks about it, the more worked up he gets. Especially because - he doesn't think any of the others know this, and he's sure not about to bring it up - the owners of the Supamart are connected, distantly, to his own family. It's hard not to be linked to the Haywoods if you're big and important in this city.

So yeah, they all want this one to work out. But as things just keep going more and more wrong, he can feel a wedge being driven between him and Geoff. Because as much as he aches for the other man, as much as he hates to see the way he's falling apart-

Ryan needs to stop this. He needs to prove that he can. Prove to his family once and for all that not everyone's gonna stand by and watch them trample their way to the top of this city. And Geoff just seems to keep making the wrong calls lately. The looming date of the demolition crew keeps moving in, and the more he thinks about it, the more certain Ryan is that they need to build a barricade around the shelter.

It makes perfect sense.

It makes sense in the saga that is ACHIEVE's life, it makes sense that this is some glorious climax in the five-act play of his life. They will put their bodies on the line here. They will surround the shelter and physically, literally stand up to the people who think they can tear the city down. It will prove their resolve. It will look good in the papers. It will show his family exactly who they're up against. And most importantly, _it will work._ Because the speeches, the articles, the fucking softly-softly approach, that sure ain't working.

Geoff, of course, won't have a bar of it.

There's something wrong here. Something Ryan can't put his finger on. But for the first time, he feels like the other man isn't actually listening to a word he says. He shoots down every one of Ryan's emails with a curt reply that usually ends in some variation of "fucking stupidest idea I've ever heard." Ryan can't finish a sentence without being interrupted, and every time he tries to convince Geoff of his point of view the other man shakes his head the whole way through and Ryan gets the distinct impression his words are going in one ear and right out the other.

It hurts.

It hurts, because this is clearly important to both of them. It hurts, because in all their fights they always at least consider each other's point of view, even if they end up challenging it. And even when they don't see eye to eye, he's never felt before like Geoff wasn't at least acknowledging his position, or making an effort to understand why he brought it up.

Two things happen at once that, later, Ryan will come to see as the factors leading up to the real turning point. 

First comes yet another phone call from Father. These calls are always a bad omen, they seem to warrant dread, to foreshadow things about to fall apart. And usually Ryan brushes off whatever new criticisms he has about Ryan's grades, his internships, his latest political activities. But this one is different.

"Your grandmother had some choice words for me the other day," he informs Ryan. It's late at night, too late to really be polite to call, and Ryan's just come off submitting a 5000 word paper worth 40% of his grade. He's not in the fucking mood, to be honest. "Seems like the Herald did a write up about your little activist group."

"It's not little," Ryan informs him haughtily. "If it was so little, no one would care."

"Yeah, well she's not fucking pleased. She's good friends with the governor. A picture of you on the front pages picketing outside his office? Not a good look!"

"That's exactly why I did it," Ryan says, and his father hisses a furious breath out through his teeth.

"Do you think she's the only one who's not happy with what you've been doing lately? Your mother is deeply disappointed. So am I. So is the entire extended family. I don't think you understand just how much pressure I'm under to get you back in line."

"I'm not a child anymore," Ryan says, but his heart is beating a frantic rhythm in his chest. He doesn't like the sound of his father's voice; it's different, now, there's something more serious about this.

"You are a Haywood like the rest of us. What you do, it reflects on _the rest of us."_ His father's voice is tight and Ryan realises, suddenly, he's not just angry. He's upset. "If you don't stop this foolishness, Ryan, I'm going to have to cut you off. This isn't a game."

Ryan's breath catches in his throat. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know if it's an empty threat. On the one hand, his father doesn't usually joke about things like this. On the other, the Haywoods stick together. That's how it is. Their secret shames don't get disowned, they just get hidden away.

It takes a moment for the shock to pass. When it does, he feels a slow, angry heat begin to burn deep in his chest. 

This is it.

This is one of the turning points he's been waiting for, when he'll be forced to make a choice. Family, or beliefs. In - or out. And for something he's been building his whole life up to, he somehow still feels completely unprepared.

It's hard. In fact, it's terrifying. But he already knows, deep in his heart, what he will choose.

"You're right," he says. His voice is slow and calm. Like he's reciting poetry. "This isn't a game. I've never seen it as one. You don't know how serious I am about it."

"Ryan..."

"Do what you want. But I'll be doing what's right."

"You're a fool and a child. You're wasting your time on something that won't even matter in the end," he hisses, and this time he's the one to hang up on Ryan.

He lowers the phone. His hand is shaking, his breath is coming too fast, but there's nothing but a frantic resolve in his heart. And he thinks, I'll show them. I'll show them all.

But first - they need to win Birch Bunker. He needs this to throw in Father's face.

Then comes the second thing. It's the morning after this exchange, and Ryan didn't sleep well. He's already exhausted and miserable, but he comes into the meeting riled up and determined to get Geoff to listen to his idea, because his latest attempt - some speech at Town Hall that he wouldn't let any of the rest of them listen to - has failed spectacularly, and they're sort of on their last legs here.

He's prepared a detailed outline of how they'd go about this. He was up past midnight working on it, but the second he walks in and Geoff sees his laptop, he's already shaking his head.

"Fucking drop it, Ryan," he warns.

"No, Geoff, I won't." The sight of the other man sends a pang through Ryan's heart, because his eyes are red and surrounded by dark wells, and he's clearly just as tired, and there's a tremor in his hands that Ryan doesn't like. He wishes Geoff would just step aside and let him take over. Let him show him that he can get this done. But right now, this is bigger than anything Ryan might be feeling, bigger than the two of them. "Your shit isn't working. Time to try something else."

"Negative attention is only going to make things worse," Geoff snaps. They're alone in the meeting room, and Ryan wishes someone else would show up, because their fights are marginally less ugly when there are others around. "Put that shit away, I don't even wanna hear it-"

"Well too fucking bad," Ryan hisses, slamming his laptop down. "You had your chance, Geoff, and you failed!" He sees Geoff flinch, but barrels on, "This is a _collective_ , not your personal dictatorship. I'm the vice fucking president and I have as much right to bring up an idea as you. Let the group vote on our next move."

Geoff shoulders him aside. He flips through Ryan's document, mouth set in a tight line, but Ryan can already see from the steely look on his face that he's not convinced. A hand squeezes his heart, digs its nails in.

"This is sheer idiocy," Geoff says finally, coldly. "You'll get us all arrested and it won't be for any good. You know what they'll do? They'll call the fucking police on us and that'll be the end of it."

"It'll get the city to wake up and pay attention," Ryan snaps, "Which they sure as fuck haven't been doing so far."

"There's another way."

"Yeah? What is it?" Ryan demands, and there's a frozen, awkward silence, before Geoff slams the laptop shut and shoves it back towards him.

"You're not presenting this," he says flatly, "It's a waste of everyone's fucking time."

Ryan opens his mouth, but Geoff raises a hand, and when he speaks his voice is dripping with the most contempt Ryan's ever heard.

"I don't know how to make you get this through your thick skull, rich boy, but outside your little bubble of having people at your beck and call, the world doesn't actually drop everything and pay attention just because you stamp your foot at it. You can't just push and shove until you get your way. And maybe you don't realise how fucking serious this situation is, but if we don't find a way to do this properly it's gonna hurt a lot of people. So just - make yourself useful by thinking up an actual idea instead of bulldozing your way into getting us all in trouble like you always do?"

Ryan stares at him, eyes wide and hurt. It's not usual for him to be stunned speechless, and he wouldn't take this shit from everyone else-

But it's _Geoff._

Geoff who, despite everything, he does admire. Geoff who's the one person in the world he wishes could see him for who he really is. Geoff who he wants to be proud of him, to value him, more than anyone else.

Shock. Hurt. Embarrassment. Then, like he's done for years, he shoves it all away and lets ice-cold anger take its place.

"I suppose you're the fucking president," he spits, and snatches his laptop up. "So you've got the final say."

"Damn right," Geoff says, and rubs his hands over his face, tiredly. Before he can say anything else, Ryan spins on his heel and leaves the room. He's shaking with anger. He thinks he hears Geoff say something behind him, but doesn't catch what it is. He's so angry he can't be there right now. He doesn't want Geoff to see how much he hurt him, finds the very thought totally humiliating.

He goes home. He sits. He fumes. It's hard to describe just what's going through his head in that moment. Every time he thinks about it it's like a stab to the heart.

Rejected from his family-

Rejected by Geoff-

Knowing above all that he has to do something, do something, do something. He cannot sit there and wallow. He cannot stand idly by and watch ACHIEVE fall apart.

And the idea comes to him - slowly, like it was sent from the fates. It all seems to make perfect sense.

_If you were president of ACHIEVE..._

As soon as he thinks it, the thought will not leave his head. Like Macbeth's prophecy, the prospect of greatness looms before him. All the pieces fallen into place.

_If you were president, your family would know you are taking this seriously. It would be the greatest_ fuck you _that you could possible give them._

_And if you were president - ACHIEVE would listen to you. You could show Geoff that you're capable. You could prove to him that your methods work._ And he's seen, the last few weeks, a growing concern about the toll this is taking on Geoff. He knows he is not alone in thinking this campaign needs to take a new direction.

It almost seems like fate is on his side, because it's near election time. They just never really thought about it because no one has ever challenged Geoff for the presidency. And the more he thinks about it-

The more it just seems like all the pieces are lined up in exactly the right places. The possibility is frightening, but at once exciting. Once it's in his head, he can't get it out.

Geoff won't be happy.

That's the one drawback. He'll think Ryan is doing this out of spite, because he thinks him incompetent. But it's not like that, it really isn't. It's anyone in ACHIEVE's right to run for president. And he doesn't think Geoff's stupid, not at all. Just - what's happening here clearly isn't working for everyone. It suddenly seems like the best route to take. In the long run, when it all works out, it will clearly have been made for the better. With Ryan making the calls, maybe they can finally start working together again.

(It's nothing personal-

Not against Geoff, at least, though that was the straw that broke the camel's back-

No, it's the look on his father's face he's thinking about, it's the thought of throwing such a big fucking middle finger up at his family, it's the need to prove them all wrong, prove that he can do this, that he's not afraid, that he can do this, do this, do this-)

He thinks long and hard about it, all day and all that night. He drafts up an election campaign, he thinks about how this would work logistically. He tries to imagine what it would be like to be the one in charge. He considers how the rest of ACHIEVE probably feels.

And the more he thinks about it, the more it feels like destiny-

And the more he thinks about it-

Oh, there are cons too. He isn't blind to the division it might cause in the collective. He considers how Geoff will feel, and that's the part that makes his heart sink a little.

But he and Geoff are not together.

And probably will never be. Probably Geoff isn't fucking interested at all, and probably all this drama over Birch Bunker has only made him hate Ryan even more, and Ryan cannot make that a deciding factor when it's not like the two of them are going anywhere, anyway, no matter how much it hurts to admit. And in the long run Geoff will see, they'll all see, how this was for the best. 

He drinks. He dwells. And that night, he comes to a decision. He will do it and this will play out, one way or another, but he has to at least try.

_Peripeteia._ That's what they call this. The turning point, the sudden change in the hero's circumstances after which they cannot go back. For better or for worse, he will make this choice. It feels like his whole life has been leading up to it.

And so it goes.

_(From this time forth, my thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth-)_

 

* * *

 

A lot of people will probably not believe this, but Ryan convincing Gavin to join his side had absolutely nothing to do with how close he is to Geoff.

That being said, Gavin is the first person he tells about his plan. He's been sitting on it for a week or so now, slowly putting the pieces in place, trying to figure out the best way to announce that he is running. He should tell people soon, and more than anything he should tell Geoff - after all, it's only courteous. 

But Geoff has been out of town lately. Jack mentioned something about his mother being in hospital. To Ryan it again seems some stroke of fate; Geoff clearly needs to step down, and they'll need someone to take over.

But he can't drop this bomb on Geoff now. It seems rude and perhaps Ryan is a coward, but he can't face having to hurt someone he cares about so terribly. So he doesn't say anything, keeps thinking _later, eventually, you still have time._

Either way, circumstances lead him to have to drop by Gavin's flat to pick up some brochures for a different campaign. He doesn't think much of it, to be honest. Gavin's a pretty familiar face around ACHIEVE, but the two of them aren't particularly close. Don't get him wrong, he likes the kid; he seems relentlessly optimistic, he gives his all to every project and he's a hell of a good artist. But the two of them don't know each other very well. Gav tends to hang out with the younger members of ACHIEVE and they don't talk much outside of ACHIEVE business.

So when he knocks on the door and Gavin opens it and he's clearly been crying, Ryan's shocked and a little scared because holy shit does he have no fucking idea what to do about that.

"Um," he says. "Are you okay?"

Gavin looks a bit shell-shocked to see him. He nods, sniffling, and wipes the back of his hand across his red nose. Whatever was going on, he was clearly crying _hard_ \- his eyes are swollen, his face all blotchy. 

"I'm fine," he replies, in possibly the least convincing voice Ryan's ever heard. "Sorry, you need those brochures, right? Come in."

Ryan rather awkwardly follows him into the house. He wonders if he should offer to come back later, but it's too late, Gavin's retreated into the apartment. All the curtains are drawn, and though it's only late afternoon, the place is dark as night. Ryan hovers by the door, wondering what he should do. Gavin returns with a stack of papers. There's a long pause after Ryan takes them in which they both make a valiant attempt to ignore the fact that Gavin's sniffing every two seconds and clearly on the brink of a full-on breakdown.

Ryan could turn and leave.

He could. Maybe once he would have. But he's not totally heartless, and Gavin looks so small and sad, and he reaches out and squeezes the other man's shoulder.

"Need to talk?" he prompts, and Gavin lowers his head. He leans into Ryan's touch, and takes a few deep breaths, getting himself back under control.

"Michael and I broke up," he blurts out. Saying it out loud seems to make him lose control; he dissolves into a flood of tears and practically crumples into Ryan's arms. Alarmed, Ryan leads him over to the couch, sits him down, holds him as he cries. He's still processing it himself.

_Broke up?_

He honestly did not see that one coming. People in ACHIEVE date all the time - a product of shared values and spending most of their time around one another - but Michael and Gavin were something different even on top of that. They were ACHIEVE's big power couple. Always on the front lines, getting shit done - and always joking and teasing with one another. When they were in the room, they were the life of the party. Even Ryan had enjoyed their ability to light up any situation with their ridiculous banter.

But Gavin's not laughing now.

"Jesus," Ryan manages, "What happened?"

Gavin hiccups. He doesn't speak for a little while, and Ryan waits patiently. He's... honestly never had much of a caring instinct, but somehow it comes naturally now; he rubs Gavin's back, and reaches out to pull the tissue box closer to him, and after a while gets up to grab a glass of water for him.

Finally Gavin's sobs subside. Ryan passes him the water, and he wipes his face and gives a strained smile.

"Sorry. I'm a bit of a mess."

"Hey, don't worry about it. Breakups are tough. Especially since you guys were together so long. You don't have to talk about it," Ryan urges, "But if you want to, I'm happy to listen."

Gavin hesitates. Ryan can see him thinking it over. Ryan's not close enough to Michael that it will make things particularly awkward. And he's never been much of a gossip.

"I broke up with him," he whispers finally. "I didn't want to, but I had to."

"What happened?" Ryan prompts gently.

So Gavin tells him. He tells him how for weeks Michael's been strange and distant, ignoring Gavin's messages, never managing to find time for him. He'd been hurt, but put it down to busyness-

At least until he found out Michael's ex had gotten in touch.

"He was never over Ray," Gavin says miserably, "I don't think I ever wanted to admit that to myself, but he was always hung up on him. There were moments when he... it's hard to explain. But I knew he was always thinking about him, and how things went wrong, and how maybe they might've managed to get over it, if things hadn't gone down the way they did."

Ryan's fists clench on his behalf. He'd only vaguely known Ray, but what he does know is how broken up Michael was after they ended badly. It’d been obvious to everyone in ACHIEVE.

"You think he was cheating?"

"I don't know," Gavin whispers, "But he hid the messages from me. I only found out by accident. He said Ray was just reaching out because he had a tough time. I believed him. I _wanted_ to believe him. But then the other day..."

The look on Gavin's face is like looking in a mirror. The same sort of bitter desperation that Ryan's felt far too often the last couple of weeks. _Betrayal. Abandonment._

"I had family over from England. I asked Michael to come with me, for moral support, but he said he had to go do something at uni. So I went on my own."

"You don't get on with your family?" Ryan can't help asking - Gavin shakes his head.

"No. They're super traditional. And super Catholic. And I'm, well..." he trails off with a hysterical sort of laugh, and Ryan automatically reaches out, rubs his arm. "Anyway. The meeting didn't go well. I had to get out of there. I tried to leave, but I was in no state to drive. My car went off the road - I wasn't hurt, but it wouldn't start again. And I just - I freaked out."

He huddles in one himself, legs curling up to his chest, and Ryan wraps an arm around him. He's trembling hard, even just talking about it. 

"I had the worst panic attack of my life. I have never felt so much like my world was falling apart. There's no way I can put into words just how much I needed someone, anyone, at that moment. So I called Michael. I called him again and again and again. And he didn't pick up. And I was scared, so scared that something had happened to him, because how could he not be there? It took me all day to get home. Every time I tried to move I'd just - spiral again. But finally I managed to get back to my flat. And then he finally texted me. And you know where he was?" A smile stretches across Gavin's lips, grim and deadly, like a skeleton's grin. "He was with Ray."

"Jesus," Ryan breathes, and Gavin lets out a bitter laugh.

"Yep. I don't know what the fuck they were doing, and I don't care. Ray's his fucking ex. I'm his boyfriend - _was_ his boyfriend - I _needed him_. I needed him so _fucking badly_ in that moment and he wasn't there-"

His voice breaks, but this time he pushes on.

"And he'd lied to me. He told me was going to uni. Lied to my God damn face without even flinching. Needless to say, I broke up with him on the spot. I couldn't - I couldn't deal with that. Not on top of everything else."

There's something funny in his voice, like there's more to the story. But Ryan's heard enough. Furious resentment coils in his chest on Gavin's behalf.

"He's an asshole," he whispers, fiercely, and Gavin nods.

"Yeah," he murmurs, and looks away. "But it still hurts."

"Of course," Ryan says. "That's understandable. He was important to you, and now you've lost that. Not just that, but... he was someone you trusted to always be there for you. And he wasn't. I think that warrants feeling pretty hurt."

Gavin nods. There's a slightly strained pause, and Ryan wonders if he should go. But after a while Gavin shifts, and says - so softly Ryan has to strain to hear it - "Kinda don't want to be alone right now."

Of course Ryan stays.

He drops by more and more the next few weeks, checking in on Gavin. Word's spread through the rest of ACHIEVE about the break up by now. Michael informs them all, via Lindsay, that he's leaving the collective. Ryan isn't sure if he's disappointed or relieved by this news. He sure can't tell what Gavin's feeling.

Still. He spends a lot of time over at Gavin's place, or Gavin over at his, and God, he doesn't know why they weren't friends before. They get each other in a way few people have.

"I want to love them," Gavin says, one evening when the topic drifts to their families, "That's the worst part of it. We're close. I don't want to disappoint them. And I miss the days when I could respect them. There's just - so much pressure in my community to keep up appearances. I know I'll be letting everyone down."

"I feel that," Ryan whispers. "It's the same with my family. It's... isolating. The people who should be there for you, and instead they're the ones you're most scared of."

Gavin just nods, and from the look in his eyes, Ryan knows he understands. He's easy to talk to - and he becomes one of the very few people that Ryan finds himself opening up to. In a few hysterical, late night conversations fuelled by booze and exhaustion, he lets Gavin see all his raw edges. Doesn't try to present himself as infallible, untouchable, but lets him see all the pain and hurt. He knows, he and Gavin speak the same tongue; they're as fucked up as each other, broken in all the same, familiar ways.

And not once is there pity on Gavin's face, or horror, or doubt. Just the same gentle understanding.

"Being in the closet," Gavin says one day, "It's the worst sort of shackles. It's like... like dragging an invisible tail around everywhere you go. If people could see it, they'd know you're a freak. But as long as it's invisible, they're constantly stepping on it. It just - hurts."

"Would you ever come out?" Ryan asks, and a funny, shadowed look passes across Gavin's face.

"Even just thinking about it makes me freak out," he laughs, and changes the topic quickly, and Ryan doesn't bring it up again.

It's a weird transition from friends to sleeping together. They've drunk just enough to relax, and Ryan's had to tell Gavin three times that it's a bad idea to keep looking at Michael's Facebook page, and the next thing he knows, the other man's hands are cupping his face and he's clambering onto his lap on the couch. Ryan stops him, hands on his shoulders, and Gavin blinks slowly.

"Say the word," he says, "And we'll never speak of this again. I promise. It won't be weird. I can take rejection."

"Is this a rebound?" Ryan asks, one eyebrow rising.

"Clearly," Gavin replies, and takes a shaky breath. "I need a distraction, Ryan. It doesn't have to mean anything."

Ryan hesitates. But, he thinks, it's been a while, and he hasn't spoken to Geoff in weeks, and his Father's still sending him ominous texts every day, and there's a lot he needs to take his mind off as well. So he curls a hand around the back of Gavin's neck and pulls him in. 

Later, whispers will spread. He's not sure how people find out; Gavin lets something slip, maybe, or people just pick up on how much more comfortable they are around each other. But it's not what people think.

It's not malicious. It's not a revenge fuck. It's not something dark and messy, or desperate, or toxic, or however else people see it.

It's two very, very lonely friends who just - get each other. It's two lost souls who've felt too little love in their lives. Who just want someone to touch them gently. Who just want to feel _close_ to something. 

Gavin's the first person Ryan tells about his plan to run for president. He seems surprised - then thoughtful - then a little worried.

"I don't think Geoff's gonna like that," he murmurs. "He loves ACHIEVE. It's his life's work."

"He's been president for three years. And he's so stressed, Gavin. It's for the best."

"You really think your way of doing things will change everything?" Gavin asks. He still seems uncomfortable with the idea. "Geoff's gotten results before."

"Sometimes," Ryan says. "But not now. And not always. It's time for ACHIEVE to take a new direction. A stronger one. No more playing nice. No more toeing the line. The people who made the rules didn't make them for people like us."

Gavin's eyes widen.

"Geoff will understand, eventually. But Gavin..." Ryan reaches out, clasps his hands. "We've spent too long lying down letting people kick us in the face. _No more_. No more being scared. No more being helpless. No more being invisible. No more waiting for our turn. I'm sick of being weak. Sometimes to get what you want - what's _right_ \- you have to be ruthless. You have to stand up and grasp your destiny in both hands."

The words make Gavin's eyes shine. It's far from the only conversation they have about things, but the others are all along the same lines. And of everyone, of course Gavin understands. Of course Gavin, who has been beaten down and kicked around, Gavin's who's spent too long scared, Gavin who's been made to run from all his problems time after time...

Gavin wants to stand up and fight.

He believes in Ryan, when no one else does. It fuels him. He agrees to help - reluctantly, at first, then with increasing vigour as Ryan lays out all his plans. And Ryan can see how much he needs this. How much he has to feel like he, too, can take control.

"You should tell Geoff you're running," he keeps saying, "He's back in AC by now. He deserves to know."

Ryan nods - but his stomach twists just at the thought, and the next meeting is coming up anyway, and he keeps thinking of the look on Geoff's face. Of how it will shatter and change everything. Of how there'll be no going back after that point.

This is his low point.

This is the part he can't defend.

Because as much as he tells himself it's because he doesn't want to hurt Geoff when he's still grieving - or as much as he tells himself it's for the best to use everything at his disposal, including the element of surprise - the truth is, he is a coward. He's scared of how much Geoff will hate him. He puts it off, tries not to think about it.

And so he never does end up telling him, and soon it's too late, anyway.

 

* * *

 

Believe it or not, Ryan does not enjoy the campaign.

It drags him in, swallows him whole. Like he’s falling down a mountainside, gathering momentum; once he’s begun, he can’t go back. Even as things escalate, and escalate, even as he watches ACHIEVE become torn asunder. He has gone too far. All he can do is watch things play out.

Still. It scares him, how cold he has to force himself to become just to stay on course. How ruthless he has to make himself. And there are stupid, wicked things that he hopes for along the way.

He hopes that after this, he will not have to think of Geoff again, at least not in the same way, because he cannot be compromised in his resolve, not here, not now.

He hopes that word has got back to his father, that this will strike him in the heart, that he will be sorry, that he will wish he’d never doubted Ryan in the first place.

And above all, he hopes that he wins. Even as he knows it will crush Geoff, he cannot help but pursue victory with everything he has. And keep thinking, over and over, _it’s for the best. It’s for the best. It’s for the best._

He wins.

They throw a victory party. He is surrounded by his friends, his supporters; he loves them like brothers. He is giddy with relief. But at the same time he feels oddly numb and dead inside, like he’s sold part of his soul. He tries not to think too hard about it.

_(For they had eyes, and chose me-)_

Tries not to think about how half of his friends hate his fucking guts now, about how many bridges he burned to climb to the top of the wreckage. But there is a moment - a moment when he leaves the university bar to get some fresh air, and looks down over the campus, and freezes when he sees Geoff lingering by his car, smoking.

His heart nearly stops. The glowing tip of the cigarette looks like a red eye in the dark. Geoff looks crumpled, defeated, worn thin. And Ryan…

All Ryan’s feelings come crashing back in a single, unstoppable wave. Everything he buried and forced away during the campaign - God, he couldn’t go near Geoff. He was afraid he would lose his resolve. It was easy, when they weren’t around each other, to tell himself he was over things. To tell himself that it didn’t matter, that this was all for the best, that you can’t let feelings get in the way of what needs to be done.

But now - now he feels emptier than ever. Now he thinks _first place, Ryan, wouldn’t Father be proud_ , and what scares him the most is that he doesn’t feel like he’s beaten his Father at all. He feels like he’s grown into his shoes, filled out his suit. He looks at Geoff, and his heart aches, and all he can see are the broken shattered pieces, half the cast lying dead at the end of Act 5. The fatal flaw. The hero’s tragic downfall. He thinks, _you love him like a fist to the jaw-_

_Like a stab in the back, heart attack-_

_Like the bird with its beak and its claws-_

_Isn’t this all you were terrified of?_

_Just get to the other end of the board-_

_There’s a queen inside every seeming pawn-_

_So you will claw your way to the top with_

_Bloodied nails_

_And your heart in tatters on your sleeve._

 

* * *

 

The action resumes.

There’s something a bit surreal about being in a diner so late at night. It’s just across the road from the engineering side of campus, and is usually a hot-spot for students frantically using the free wifi to complete impending assessment tasks.

But the weather tonight is so horrible that it seems no one else has braved it; they are the only customers there, alone in a sea of harsh fluorescent lights and the smell of grease and chemical cleaning products. They sit opposite one another in a tattered old booth, in a slightly awkward silence.

Well. _Ryan_ is awkwardly silent.

Geoff, on the other hand, is wolfing down bacon and eggs like his life depends on it. Ryan pokes listlessly at a pancake on his own plate. He’s not hungry, but the strong black coffee has sobered him up. The more he thinks about it, the more embarrassing his little crying fit back there was.

_Really? Daddy cancels his trip to see you and you throw a fucking tantrum about it? Man the fuck up._

He knows it’s not the right way to think. He still can’t help it.

Finally Geoff lowers his knife and fork and lets out a tremendous belch.

“There! Now that’s much better,” he declares. “No one likes to have a raging bitch fight on an empty stomach.”  
  
“Are we about to have a raging bitch fight?” Ryan drawls, and Geoff shrugs, leaning back in the booth, arms spread out across the back of his seat.

“That’s how it usually seems to go with us,” he points out. Ryan looks away, stomach twisting, and Geoff frowns. “Why the long face? It’s true.”  
  
Deep breath now. Jack was right about one thing, they cannot just leave this. Didn’t he ask Geoff out here because he wanted to talk? He takes another sip of coffee, just to buy himself time to gather his thoughts.

“That’s the problem,” he manages, finally. “We both want the same thing here, Geoff.”  
  
“Do we?”  
  
“Of course. We always have. You and I, and ACHIEVE - all we’ve ever wanted was to make the world a better place. To fight for what we believe in. Our end goals have never _differed_ , not in that regard.”  
  
Geoff’s staring at him, intently, brow a little furrowed. And for the first time - for the first time in weeks, he’s _listening_.

“Even when we used to fight, it was always about our methods. Never the rest of it. When we work together we improve one another. You know it’s true.”  
  
“Then why escalate things?” Geoff snaps. He looks a bit uncomfortable now, like he doesn’t want to acknowledge the truth of Ryan’s words. “You’re the one who turned on me-”  
  
“Because you wouldn’t listen to a fucking thing I had to say!”  
  
“Oh, I _listened_ , Ryan!” Geoff slams his hands on the table. “Don’t you dare pin this on _me_! I listened and your ideas were just going to get us in trouble! And if you keep up with it now you’re president, all ACHIEVE stands for will fall apart-”  
  
“You don’t _know that-”_  
  
“Not everyone has the luxury of a Dad who’s gonna bail them out of jail whenever the fuck they want!” Geoff roars. “And some of the ones who took your side, I don’t know how you managed to get them to forget that! Mica. Josh. Hell, even _Gavin_ could be in a fuckload of trouble if he gets arrested too many times! Just because _you_ can do whatever you like doesn’t mean it’s a good idea for the rest of us! Not to mention, you think the university’s gonna stand for ACHIEVE becoming some kind of-”  
  
“Some kind of _what_?” Ryan hisses, leaning in across the table.

There’s a frozen pause. Geoff swallows hard, and shakes his head.

“You think I wasn’t listening, Ryan? I heard you loud and clear. It’s impossible not to. Birch Bunker means too much to me to let you ruin this campaign. You said there was another reason. Well right now, it just seems like you chose a stupid hill to die on, and then when you didn’t get your way you-”  
  
“You want to know why?” Ryan snaps. He’s trembling, now. “Because I have had _enough_ of being silent. You said my father will always bail me out; I concede he has in the past, but not any more. He’s given up on me, okay? I wasn’t just doing this because I didn’t think there’d be consequences. Birch Bunker was personal for me, too - not the same way as it was for you, I’m not trying to say that. But I know the people who run the Supamart. They’re part of my family by marriage. I’m sick of my family thinking they can do whatever they want in this city like no one even cares. Like no one will challenge them.”  
  
“So that’s why,” Geoff says - voice tight - _unimpressed_ , Ryan realises. “You just wanted this whole campaign to be a big middle finger in Daddy’s face.”  
  
Ryan’s blood freezes over, cold and furious.

“You think that means nothing,” he says, slowly. “You think that’s just some childish rebellion. You think it’s so fucking _easy_. You have no _idea_ how much it means in my family. My entire fucking life my Father has been drilling it into me that my job is to sit down, shut up, toe the line. Because if you don’t you’re bringing shame on the whole family. If you don’t you’re a _disappointment_. Don’t be anything other than the best. Since the day I was _fucking born_. You have no idea what that kind of pressure is like. What it’s like to open your mouth to try and speak and get screamed down every single time. So that’s why, Geoff. That’s why I always _escalate_. Because I know that if someone’s more powerful than you, sometimes it’s the only way to be heard.”  
  
He’s not shouting. He thinks, somehow, that means more, because Geoff’s gone very quiet. He must be able to see the way Ryan’s shaking. 

“Around the time of the Birch Bunker campaign,” he continues, “My Father called. A final warning to stop. I had to show him he couldn’t control me. Becoming president of ACHIEVE showed him I was serious. And tonight…”  
  
He trails off. That pain is still raw. But Geoff’s eyes are softed, now, and he forces himself to continue.

“I have few enough links to my family left. He was meant to come visit, but he took offence to me not picking his law firm for my internship and cut off the visit. You know what the stupid part is? I shouldn’t even want to see him. But somehow it still hurts. Sometimes, even when you know they’re wrong, know they’re bad for you - you just can’t stop loving someone. People talk about going _no contact_ like it’s so fucking easy. It isn’t. It’s the hardest thing in the world.”  
  
Geoff bites his lip. Ryan slumps back in his seat, exhausted.

“Ryan…” 

Geoff leans forward, hands clasped on the table. He looks nothing but exhausted, now. Shakes his head.  
  
“What hurt the most wasn’t that you ran for president. It was that you did it behind my back, that you didn’t seem to give two shits how I felt about it, that you turned half my friends on me.”  
  
It’s true, and Ryan feels guilty about it, and can’t help but lash out.

“Not sure why you care what _I_ think of you. You never seemed to care much at any other point.”  
  
“Oh, as if it was about that,” Geoff snaps. “About, what, me being _mean_ to you when I shot down your idea? You’re not that petty, Ryan-”  
  
“I’m not,” Ryan cuts in, embarrassed again, “But that still _hurt_.”  
  
“Well I didn’t know _you_ cared,” Geoff fires back, and somehow, somehow that’s what makes something snap inside.

It’s been a stupid, wild, hysterical sort of night. They’re dead tired and a bit drunk and everything feels a little unreal. _But he is not stone_. He cares, he cares more than anyone ever _thinks_ , he cares so much it feels like it’s burning him alive. He is so, so tired of people thinking he has no fucking feelings. Like this is all so fucking _easy_.

“You think I don’t care?” he hears himself say, nearly beyond his control. “I’ve only been in love with you for three years.”

A silence.

Geoff takes a moment to process it. Then his eyes go huge, and his hands still flat against the table. It takes a second for _Ryan_ to process it too. Then his whole body seems to freeze, and his stomach yanks itself into a tight knot, and he realises, _fuck._

Geoff opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. Ryan stares into his blue, blue eyes, feels his heart ache. This… was not part of his plan. Not supposed to happen.

And no smooth words come, no cunning plan. For some stupid fucking reason all he can think is, _yikes_.

And then _, well, I’m out of here_.

“Forget I said that,” he snaps, frantically, and scrambles up from the booth. He manages to knock over his empty mug, a water glass and a bunch of menus stacked against the napkin holder on the way. “This was all a stupid idea anyway!”  
  
“Ryan!” Geoff yells after him, but Ryan’s already charging out the door and into the rain. It feels like someone’s punching him in the chest, again and again and again, and everything’s just fallen the fuck apart, and all he can do is what he rather hysterically thinks of as _pulling a Gavin_ , and flee the fucking scene of the crime.

 

* * *

 

There is probably some sort of poetic meaning to the fact that his feet take him back to the university campus and into the graffiti tunnel that leads from the computer labs to the business school. In reality, it’s the nearest spot to get out of the rain.

He’s drenched just from the ten minute power-walk he took, soaked completely to the skin, his hair dripping down his face. His jacket’s warm, but not waterproof, and now it clings to him uncomfortably. But he’s not cold, no. His blood seems to be blazing through his veins with every pump of his heart. 

He still can’t quite believe this is happening.

His mind won’t stop racing, whirling in circles like a carousel. To Geoff, ACHIEVE, his father, the party, Geoff again. _Geoff_.

_What the fuck have you done?_

But here, out from under the rain, in the dark shadows - he pauses, for a moment, and catches his breath. He feels himself begin to process this.

The tunnel smells like chemical fumes and the rotten gutter leaves that were swept in here by the wind. Ryan moves forward and lets his hand brush across one of the logos stencilled onto the wall. It’s an advertisement for the arts revue, and he can’t help but smile. He remembers going to watch Meg, Lindsay, and Mica perform in that earlier this year. Most of ACHIEVE went on the same night, filling several rows of the theatre with whooping support. They all went out to dinner together afterwards. It was one of the rare times when they were all together and _not_ angry about something. He remembers how novel he found it - being part of a _friendship group_ for once in his life.

He wanders further down the tunnel. Someone’s scrawled a messy tag - it’s relatively fresh, the paint still running down the wall. He remembers how he and Geoff used to walk through here after meetings together, usually still continuing some argument or another, and they’d both pause to hold their breath when they had to pass by people scribbling nonsense on the walls.

“Not even art,” Geoff had said one time, prompting a girl to spin around and tug her mask down from her face.

“What, you expecting fucking Banksy?” she’d spat back.

“Banksy’s work is shallow anti-establishment drivel that offers no concrete solutions beyond generic social commentary,” Geoff replied. She just stared at him before giving him the finger and turning back to the wall. It’d made Ryan laugh, and call Geoff pretentious, and Geoff’s only response had been “ _Banksy’s_ pretentious,” and something about how he much preferred slam poetry, and somehow it’d devolved into an argument about graffiti in general.

Now Ryan’s smile fades. He turns and his eyes fall on something that _is_ actually art - a piece Jeremy did some months ago, and was very proud of. No one’s covered it up yet, although someone’s stuck a sticker advertising some meeting of the Evangelical group at their school over part of it. 

Streaks of black, white and grey with a hint of rain-puddle blue swirl across the weathered bricks to form the image of a giant, cracked egg. A dark red seeps from the cracks, spattering down the wall to sweep in pools along the ground. Bursting free from the cracks are a shower of butterflies.

There’s something grotesque about it, but at the same time oddly mesmerising. And Ryan can hazard a guess at what the butterflies were meant to mean -   _hope. Freedom_. Jeremy likes weird conceptual art like that; everything he draws seems to be some sort of metaphor. There had been a rather enthusiastic debate about what the picture was meant to mean on the UAC facebook page.

_Jeremy._

He thinks of the anger in the other man’s eyes back at the party. The two of them had never been close, but Ryan had always admired his spirit, and it hurts to think of how much Jeremy hates him now. How much a lot of people must hate him.

_This all got wildly out of control._ He’s known that for a while now, but part of him had been loathe to admit that he was responsible. After all, that was what happened with stupol. 

But Jeremy had been right about one thing.

_You’re leader now._

_No matter what happens, it’s your responsibility to fix this. To reach out to everyone, invite them back. Like you said to Geoff - you’re all on the same side. Don’t be too proud to admit that you need them_.

“Ryan?”  
  
Geoff’s voice makes him stiffen. He turns, slowly, and sees the other man’s shadowed form standing in the tunnel entrance. His stomach twists with nerves, and he swallows hard.

“Geoff.”  
  
“Dude.” Geoff walks towards him, one hand outstretched, like he’s taming a wide horse. Ryan certainly feels just as skittish as one. “Don’t run off like that.”  
  
“Sorry. I left you with the bill,” Ryan says, a bit stupidly, and Geoff laughs.

“That’s not what I meant. I was worried. The weather’s so bad out, it’s dangerous to go running off. Might get hit by a car or something.”

“Oh,” Ryan says. There’s a long, awkward pause. He can tell that Geoff has no idea what to say - probably didn’t plan much beyond finding him. 

But the idea’s still stuck in his head - _fix this_ \- he blurts out, “Don’t be angry with Gavin.”

Whatever Geoff was expecting, it wasn’t that.

“What?”  
  
“Gavin. He… I know you’re hurt by him siding with me. But it wasn’t like that. What happened with Michael… and his family… it wore him down. Standing up, taking my side, he needed that. It wasn’t anything to do with you. He needed a way to reclaim power. I made it sound appealing. And I heard from Alfredo earlier - he had some sort of personal shit going on, something he didn’t even tell me. Don’t be mad at him,” he repeats, and is startled by how much of a plea it comes out. “You two were close. I don’t want to have ruined that. He needs you right now, and I think you need him. Blame me if you have to, for all of it.”  
  
Geoff stares at him, then seems to shake himself. The next thing Ryan knows, he’s extending a hand. Ryan stares down at it, mutely.

“Come on,” Geoff says, and takes a deep breath. “Guess Jack was right after all. We seriously need to fucking talk.”  
  
Ryan’s breath catches. Geoff… doesn’t sound angry. Doesn’t even sound awkward, like he thinks what’s gonna come next is painful. Just resigned, and serious, and - dare Ryan even think it - just a little hopeful.

He’s fucking terrified.

He’s terrified, and with all his walls down, he knows Geoff can tell. But if he turns around now, and walks away… well, that would be the easy choice. But it would be the choice that leaves not just the two of them, but all their friends and everything they've built together torn to pieces.

_Peripeteia_ , he thinks, and like most of the rest of the decisions he’s made, he doesn’t think too hard about it. Just falls back on that whim and gut feeling, and reaches out, and takes Geoff’s hand.

 

* * *

 

It’s been a while since both of them were in the collective meeting room. The place is dark and musty, and when Ryan switches on the lights they both squint.

“God, people need to clean up their fucking mess,” Geoff grumbles, sweeping a bunch of papers on the coffee table into a pile.

Ryan swallows. There’s a lump in his throat now; it feels odd to call it nostalgia. It hasn’t been that long. But suddenly he misses the times when this room was a safe haven, a space most of them called home. He watches as a similar look passes across Geoff’s face - then he throws himself down on his usual couch. Ryan perches gingerly on the arm of another.

“So,” Geoff declares then, with far more confidence than the look on his face suggests he’s actually feeling. ”You love me, huh?”  
  
Ryan _feels_ his face go bright red, and doesn’t know whether to laugh hysterically or hide in embarrassment. He can’t think of an answer - but a moment later Geoff laughs.

“You know,” he says, gleefully, “There was a betting pool on us banging.”  
  
“So I was aware,” Ryan says drily, but is relieved when he laughs, too, and the tension breaks a little. “I suppose we can’t deny there was a… tension.”  
  
“Yeah,” Geoff says, lips twitching, “I noticed.”  
  
“And what did you think?” Ryan asks, tentatively. He did not ever expect they would be discussing this so _rationally_ , but here they fucking are. There’s something a bit surreal about it. His heart’s hammering away in his chest like the pounding of a wardrum.

Geoff swallows. Licks his lips nervously.

“I think,” he admits, “Things never quite lined up.”  
  
Ryan blinks a few times. He isn’t sure what that means. It’s not a no. It’s a weird sort of _maybe_ and he doesn’t know what to do with it - Geoff’s staring off into the distance, and after a second he seems to gather himself, and turns towards Ryan. Their eyes meet, and the intensity in Geoff’s gaze makes him shiver.

“I think,” Geoff continues, voice soft and earnest, “That you, Ryan… you’re one of the smartest guys I know, but also the most ridiculously stubborn. You drive me up the fucking wall but you’re also one of the few people I can actually hold a proper debate with. You’re an amazing ally and a terrible enemy. You’re… complicated, and _infuriating_ , and I don’t know _what_ I think of you, really.”

“Flattered,” Ryan croaks, and Geoff’s lips twitch.

“But,” he concedes, “I also think I’ve been… _harsh_ , in the past. I knew your relationship with your dad wasn’t great, but I… I didn’t stop to think exactly _why_. I see, now, how difficult that all must have been. How painful. We’ve both had it rough. Our experiences aren’t comparable. It shouldn’t be a competition.”

Ryan’s shoulders slump. It’s a relief to hear him say it out loud; it’s a relief to know he _understands_ , and he feels his own pride slip away. In here, it’s just the two of them. He does not have to hide behind his castle walls.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For what I did to you, and how things turned out. I truly am. My intention may not have been to hurt you, but I was thoughtless and selfish. I don’t regret running for president, but I deeply regret that I betrayed your trust and your friendship in order to do it. That’s on me. It was a shitty thing to do.”

Geoff nods. His eyes are glistening with tears, but he seems genuinely gracious, and after a moment he reaches out and squeezes Ryan’s arm.

“I’m sorry, too. For being difficult during that time. And being a dick to you back at the party. Some of the stuff I said was uncalled for. And hell, I had a right to be mad at you, I’m not denying that, but - I do appreciate the apology. And I do accept it.”

Ryan manages a smile. The relief is nearly crushing.

“Been a shitty last few months,” Geoff manages, with a huffed laugh, “Hasn’t it?”  
  
“I agree,” Ryan murmurs, and swallows. “Geoff - I need you here in ACHIEVE. Come back. Please.”  
  
Geoff hesitates.

“My position on Birch Bunker,” he begins, and Ryan shakes his head.

“I still think we need to take more drastic measures. But maybe we can think of something else - together. What I do know is, two heads are better than one. And ACHIEVE isn’t just this one campaign. There’ll be others. This collective… it won’t work without you. Perhaps it needs new leadership, perhaps we need to change our approach, I still believe that. But we also need your voice and your heart.”

Geoff’s eyes are huge. And Ryan can’t deny, it took a lot to admit that. He’s used to being number one, used to trying not to need _anyone_ else.

“A compromise,” Geoff replies, and Ryan nods.

“Thanks, Legolas,” he says - and Geoff snorts so loudly he nearly chokes and lets out one of his contagious, shrieking laughs. It makes Ryan smile, too - a big, genuine smile for the first time in a long time.

“You’d do that?” Geoff asks. “You were pretty set on that barricade.”  
  
“After how this went down, I… think I ought to be willing to listen,” Ryan admits. “Although I’m keeping my campaign promises. We’re taking _some_ sort of direct action. But perhaps you can help me... temper the blow.”  
  
Geoff nods, slowly. He holds out his hand after a moment; Ryan takes it without hesitation this time, and they shake firmly on it.

“And the rest of it?” Geoff asks then, and Ryan feels his face flush again.

_Where’s this going? What’s he thinking?_ The urge to downplay it, to pull away and protect himself, is strong. But he leaves the door open, just a crack.

“It’s stupid,” he manages. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get over it.”  
  
Geoff stares at him a second, then snorts.

“Three years,” he points out, ‘You reckon it’s that easy?”  
  
“I’m not sure what you expect me to say,” Ryan says, a little defensively.

Geoff just hums. He looks remarkably calm, but Ryan knows him well enough by now to catch the way he’s tugging anxiously at his hoodie strings, twisting them into knots.

“You seriously weren’t dating Gavin?” Geoff asks then, and Ryan does a double take.

“What? God, no!”  
  
“Good,” Geoff says, with far too much gusto. “Because that would be fucking weird. He’s like my little brother. Ew,” he adds, pulling a face, “I can’t believe you guys _banged_.”  
  
“Don’t be immature,” Ryan chides. His face is flaming; he can’t tell if it’s obvious.

“Then again,” Geoff says, “I’ve banged Jack and we’re still mates. And now he’s getting engaged.”  
  
“Wait, what?” Ryan demands - this night has taken too many turns already, and Geoff pulls a face.

“Oh. Shit. Wasn’t meant to reveal that. Whoops. Poor thing,” he adds, “This whole party went to pieces, didn’t it? He’ll be glad you and I are talking again.”

“He will,” Ryan murmurs. That’s the one part of all this he feels bad about; he meant what he said to Jack, he doesn’t think the other man’s doing himself any favours by interfering. It must all just be hard and exhausting. But he knows Jack can’t help it. That it comes from a place of kindness. That just like all the rest of them, all he wants is to right wrongs. 

And Ryan has to grudgingly admit that he was right about one thing. Once they started talking, it was easy to see each other’s sides.

Geoff’s still got his brow furrowed, like he’s puzzling out some complicated mental problem.

“You’re serious,” he says after a moment. “You’re happy to work together on this. No more _my way or the highway_ bullshit.”  
  
“Well, not entirely,” Ryan says - Geoff laughs - “But yes. I want you _here_ , Geoff. I want your contribution.”

Geoff nods. His face has brightened a little.

“A good man can admit when he’s wrong,” he says, approvingly. “And a good leader knows they don’t have to do everything on their own. I think maybe that’s a lesson I needed to learn as well. Maybe it will be… _refreshing_ , not to have all that pressure on me for a bit. Three years is a long time.”

“We’re stronger together. Always have been,” Ryan says, and Geoff hums in approval. After a second he rises and approaches Ryan’s chair; Ryan stiffens, nervous, unsure. Geoff reaches out and Ryan struggles to keep his face straight as the other man’s hand brushes across his cheek.

“I was serious before,” Ryan blurts out, “I can get over this. I’m not looking for anything more than what you can give.”  
  
“I know,” Geoff says. His eyes don’t move from Ryan’s. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie and say I haven’t thought about it. Like, we’ve got _some_ sort of chemistry, clearly.”  
  
“The explosive sort,” Ryan mutters, and Geoff laughs again.

“Can I?” he asks then, and Ryan hesitates.

And then thinks, _sure, why not._ Maybe it’s a bad fucking idea. Maybe after the rollercoaster of the last few weeks the last thing they should be doing is jumping into something else that could get messy. But Geoff’s gaze is gentle, and his hand is warm, and Ryan’s _wanted_ this for so long that he knows, inside, there’s no way he’s gonna say no.

And he doesn’t think Geoff expects anything too much from this, either. So he nods - he catches the flicker of nervousness that crosses Geoff’s face, then he leans in, and presses their lips together, his hand still cupped around Ryan’s jaw.

Ryan’s played this moment over far too many times in his head to probably be healthy, but in his imagination it usually takes place after some sort of argument; it’s always heated, rough. Not this - slow and gentle, Geoff’s thumb gently stroking along his jaw. He tastes like coffee and Ryan can feel the scratch of his beard, his warm weight bearing down on him like a safety blanket. It sends a shower of sparks dancing down his spine; his own hands rise to grip at the front of Geoff’s shirt. There’s something almost lazy to the other man’s movements; unhurried, curious. It’s breathtaking in its own way.

When they pull apart he’s sure his face must be red. Geoff looks a bit flustered, too, but after a moment he gives one of the wide grins that made Ryan fall for him in the first place.

“Solid kiss,” he declares, and Ryan has to snort. “Not where I thought this evening would go, to be honest.”

“You and me both,” Ryan replies. “I thought you hated me.”  
  
“I thought so too,” Geoff says, and shrugs. “Didn’t have the whole picture. As, I’m sure, you didn’t either.”  
  
Ryan nods. There’s a slightly strange pause, then Geoff lets out a huff.

“This is kinda fucked up, right?” he says, and Ryan laughs - high, a bit hysterical.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” he advises, and Geoff chuckles and grabs the front of his shirt, tugging him in to kiss him again, and something feels too easy about it; the give and take. All Ryan can think is, _it really has been a long time coming_. But there’s something about it - the two of them, here in the room where they’ve had so many fights but also planned so many campaigns together, the rain thundering down outside, that makes it feel like everything’s fallen into place.

This time when they pull apart, Geoff keeps a hand wrapped around the back of his neck.

“Promise,” he breathes, “You’re gonna do right by this group. By all of us. That you won’t let us all fall apart again.”  
  
“I’ll try my hardest,” Ryan replies, and Geoff nods. He presses his forehead to Ryan’s; he lets his eyes slip shut. It feels like some sort of blessing. And he knows he doesn’t have to ask Geoff to make any sort of vows to know that he’ll stay.

 

* * *

 

Denouement.

They get back in the car. The night is pitch black and the rain hasn’t let up, but Geoff drives them up to one of the highest hills overlooking the city; they park there, staring down at the sprawling landscape of AC stretched out in front of them. The city, a lighthouse-glow in the spaces when the windscreen wipers manage to sweep away the sheets of water cascading down the glass. In the distance, the peaks and valleys, the dark tangle of the forest. On the horizon, the bay, the black sea lagging and shifting.

“I love this city,” Geoff says, abruptly. “I’ve thought about leaving so many times. Can never bring myself to.”

“Me either,” Ryan admits. “I think by this point we’ve both invested too much.”  
  
A slight smile tugs at Geoff’s lips. He reaches over, takes Ryan’s hand without looking at him. It all feels easy, easy. 

“I want to protect what’s beautiful here,” he says. “And build on it.”  
  
Ryan nods.

“I want to remove what’s rotten,” he adds softly, and Geoff nods - a brief, impassioned jerk of the head. He opens his mouth - hesitates - Ryan squeezes his hand, and Geoff takes a deep breath.

“And I want to stop being scared that at any moment I could lose everything. Stop feeling so weak. I have you guys, now. I have everything we’ve built. There won’t be _nothing_ again.”  
  
“Of course not,” Ryan whispers. And then, his own stomach churning, “I want to stop being haunted by the legacy of my family. Not just our name, but - the rest of it. The doubt. The fear. I thought I’d escaped their shadow a long time ago; I didn’t realise just how much it still hung over me. But not any more.”

Geoff nods again, gazing at him, and when Ryan meets his eyes he knows that, for once, the other man understands.

The buzz of Geoff’s phone makes them both jump. He fumbles it from his pocket.

“Shit. It’s Jeremy. Jack’s looking for us.”  
  
“What’s going on?”  
  
“One sec.” Geoff types vigorously for a moment; his phone buzzes again. “Looks like a bunch of people are leaving. Jack’s probably freaking out.”  
  
“We should go back,” Ryan says. As much as he wants to sit here, as perfect as this moment feels, the party is unfinished business, a loose end that has to be tied up. And he thinks both of them probably owe Jack some sort of apology.

Geoff nods.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “I think I need to talk to Gavin. And tonight’s as good a night as any.”  
  
“He’s still at the party?” Ryan asks, and Geoff nods.  
  
“Yeah. Turns out he didn’t actually leave.”  
  
He puts the car in gear, turns to head back. Ryan can’t help his small smile. Destiny, he thinks - perhaps it’s a bit poetic, but something like that - every piece in its right place.

 

* * *

 

_Bedrooms and battle scars_

_both keep well in the dark._

_Hard dark._

_In the sunken-eyed section of a nightmare_

_paved with uppercuts_

_and heart sparks_

_spark plugs and fist-first-_

 

_Release._

 

_I’d fall in love with you_

_if you would beat these people out of me._


End file.
